Watch Me Bleed
by maremarethebear
Summary: Clary's life as a nurse is simple until Jace, an EMT plagued by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, forces her to rethink everything. When she finds herself falling for him, all bets are off.  When a traumatic event threatens to rip them apart, Clary faces a decision that will change her life forever. AH/AU
1. A Slow Day

**So this is going to be my first AU (Alternate Universe) fanfiction. I'm not sure if I'll be any good at it, but I got an idea so I'm going to try writing this and see how it goes.**

**Like with most AU fanfics, the characters will be OOC. I'm going to try to keep as close to themselves as I can while staying true to this story line. Seeing as they're all human, I can't make their character's exactly the same as they were in the Mortal Instruments series. **

**I have one request when it comes to reviewing: no flames. If you hate my story, fine. Rage about it to all your friends, but please keep all unkind comments to yourself. I never claimed to be one of the Cassandra Clare's of this world. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. I'll take anything that can make me a better writer.**

**Thank you for reading! Enjoy the story!**

**Disclaimer: I'm not Cassandra Clare. I don't own the Mortal Instruments series, and I think disclaimers are kind of ridiculous. I already said I'm a "fan" by being on "**_**fan**_**fiction" so aren't I saying that I didn't write this. It would be incredibly stupid to be a "fan" of your own work. Vain too. Honestly. Sorry for the rant. Keep reading…**

_Our favorite __Mortal Instruments__ quote of the chapter:_

_ "I don't want to grow up, I want to be an angst ridden teenager who can't confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people instead."_

_ -Jace_

**oOo**

Clary stares at the fluorescent lights set deep into the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. The ER has been unusually empty this evening. Two stitches, a mildly dehydrated woman and a sprained ankle had been the highlights of her night. The doctors who were usually always in the ER had wandered away, checking up on patients in a more interesting area of the hospital. She sighs softly laying her head in her hands and closes her eyes, resting them after a long uneventful shift. Her friend, Maia nudges her shoulder gently, getting her attention.

"Our shifts not over yet," Maia says with a light smile.

"But it will be in two hours and seventeen minutes," she responds without even glancing at a clock. Maia laughs in response.

"Bored?" she asks Clary.

"It's a slow day," Clary responds. Maia's eyes bug out at Clary's words. Clary chooses to ignore Maia, fully aware of the old hospital superstition that saying the words, _slow day_, will bring bad luck upon your ER.

"You did not just say that," Maia says her voice dropping. "You never say it's a _slow day_ in an ER. Haven't you ever heard that? You just jinxed us!" Clary laughs and rolls her eyes.

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous. Give it ten minutes. I guarantee you, you won't be bored anymore." She shakes her head in disgust and walks away.

"Stop being so superstitious. Nobody's going too—" the front doors to the ER open, bringing with it the sound of bickering voices. Maia shoots her a look. "You got lucky this time," Clary says before Maia could utter a single word.

"Just don't do it again," Maia responds. "He's yours." Clary says a quick goodbye to Maia then turns her attention to the boys who just entered. Her eyes immediately widen at the sight of them. One of the boys is bleeding from his hand, rivulets of blood streaming down his arm. They contrast against his golden skin. His wild eyes are gold as well, along with his hair which hangs in a wild disarray around his face. He appears to have been sculpted out of gold, his muscle definition apparent even under his thin t-shirt. Clary's mind is wiped blank at the sight of the beautiful boy standing in the waiting room. She struggles to form a coherent thought and pulls her gaze away to look at his companion. The other boy appears to be his opposite. He has pale skin and a flash of black hair that almost manages to hide his bright blue eyes. As handsome as he is, he's nothing compared to the other boy.

"—and you're being completely ridiculous," says the golden boy.

"You're bleeding. From your hand. And it's not stopping."

"Yes, my hand. It's not like I have a gaping wound in my chest or severe brain trauma and am in a coma. Honestly, Alec, I can handle a bleeding hand. I don't know why I let you drag me here." Clary stands from her seat behind the desk and heads over to the boys. The golden boy looks at her, his eyes alight with irritation. He takes the cloth he has grasped over his hand off and shows his injury to her. "Can you tell my idiotic friend here that this I'm fine?" he asks. She gently grabs his hand, rotating it so she can better inspect it. It's covered with a scattering of cuts, some of the deeper ones oozing alarming amounts of blood. The cloth he holds in his other hand is soaked through with his blood.

"No. He was right to bring you here," Clary tells him.

"See!" the black haired boy, Alec, says triumphantly. The golden boy rolls his eyes and looks back at Clary.

"I need you to fill out some forms before we get started," Clary tells him. He hisses out a quiet sigh and motions for her to give them to him. She goes behind the desk and hands the forms to his friend. The blonde haired boy taps his foot quietly, his frustration seeping into the room.

"Here," Alec says, handing Clary the clipboard. She glances at it, quickly finding out that the boys name is Jonathan, _just like her brother, _she thinks. Clary ushers him into an examination room. Alec follows them, finding a seat in the corner of the room. Clary grabs a kit from the supply closet and starts working on his hand.

"How did this happen?" Clary asked him.

"Punched a window," he responds nonchalantly. Clary briefly stops her work to glance up at him in surprise, then continues disinfecting his hand.

"There's no glass in your cuts," she says.

"That's because he thinks he's a doctor and can handle it himself," Alec says, rolling his eyes. Jonathan shoots a glare at him.

"You may have done more damage to your hand," Clary says.

"I'm sure I didn't," he responds.

"How do you know?" she asks, instantly feeling annoyed that this hotheaded boy thinks he knows more than she does. He smiles cockily at her.

"I'm a junior EMT," he says. She glances at him again.

"Really?" she asks.

"No, I'm lying to you. That's my number one joy in life. Lying about my profession." Clary takes a deep, calming breath, and pushes down her urge to do more harm to him.

"What hospital do you work with?" she asks.

"This one." The cocky quality in his voice causes her anger to grow. She takes another breath, just like her therapist taught her. She's already been punished once for poor bedside manner, and doesn't wish to be punished again. Three sessions for anger management were a little too much for her. She doesn't understand how psychiatrists can call themselves doctors. Any idiot can ask how you feel about this or that.

"Lucky this is your left hand," Clary says, attempting to clear some tension in the room.

"Too bad I'm a lefty." The familiar fire of anger builds, flooding her with it. She shoots her gaze up to his.

"I'm going to stop talking to you now," she says in what people call her "scary calm" voice. "If I keep talking to you, you're going to make me want to hit you, which is a problem. You see, I like my job. I like my job very much and it would be a shame to lose it over a—" she searches her mind for a word strong enough to portray her feelings that's still tame enough for her to keep her job. "You're lucky I'm at work," she finishes, unable to find a suitable word. Jonathan just laughs and shakes his head.

"I'm pretty sure the word she was searching for is 'ass', Jace, but unlike you, she has self-control," Alec says. Clary's mind briefly lingers on Alec's words. He called her patient Jace. _It must be a nickname_, she thinks.

"Self-control is for cowards," Jace says.

"Self-control is for people who like having a job," Alec shoots back. "I can't think of a single reason why they'd allow you to be an EMT."

"Junior EMT."

"Who hopes to be a full EMT," Alec responds. The silence falls in the room again. She shoots Jace's hand with the numbing agent a little to forcefully, causing Jace to shoot her a glare.

"Can you be more careful with that thing?" he asks her. She turns to look at him, innocence shining in her eyes.

"I'm just numbing your hand so it won't hurt you when I stitch up your boo-boo," she responds.

"Boo-boo?" he asks.

"I didn't want to use any of those big, confusing words. I wanted to make sure you understood what I was saying. Is that a problem?" He rolls his eyes and sighs with annoyance.

"Hospitals will hire just about anyone, these days."

"They hired you, which, in my opinion, just shows their poor judgment." They're eyes, both pairs blazing with anger, meet. Alec's laugh echoes in the corner of the room.

"Find something funny?" Jace asks him.

"Just happy to find you being outwitted," he responds. Clary starts stitching Jace's hand, not waiting for the medicine to work it's full affects. She stitches the cuts together fiercely, no longer caring about the amount of pain he's in, a horrible thought for a nurse, she knows, but it wasn't like he didn't deserve it. Jace doesn't move at all. She would think he didn't feel the pain if it wasn't for the tension in his arm. She's astounded that he doesn't make some comment about her poor stitching skills or impatience. He simply stares at his hand, examining the small precise stitches she makes on his hand. She finishes and wraps his thirteen stitches with a cover of gauze.

"Thank you," he says brusquely then he stands in leaves.

"You're welcome," she responds, echoing his tone. He shoots her a half-smile and leaves. Alec follows after him, but hesitates at the doorway. He turns to look at her, his eyes holding an apology.

"Sorry about him. He's an ass, I know, but he's really a good guy and a good EMT."

"Thanks." She pauses and bites her lip, wanting to ask him a question but not sure how he'll take it. Finally she decides to go for it, never being one to let her curiosity go unanswered. "Can I ask you something?" He nods, skepticism playing in his bright eyes. "Why did he punch the window?" A line appears between his brows and his lips fall into a deep frown.

"He lost a patient today. A little girl." Her stomach twists with sympathy. "He blames himself. Like I said, he's a good guy." She swallows the lump in my throat, the one that's always present whenever she hears about the death of a child. Alec waves and leaves the room. After a few minutes, Clary follows after him. The ER is empty once again. Clary sits behind the desk and digs into her paperwork, trying to get the bighearted, cocky boy out of her head.

**oOo**

After their shift, Clary and Maia head to the bar a block away from the hospital. It's four in the morning and their both exhausted. The bar stays open twenty-four/seven and is a popular spot for hospital employees. Her best friend and roommate, Simon, works their as a bartender and she usually goes there after work to hang out with him. Maia and Clary enter the bar, empty except for a scattering of drunks. They sit at the empty bar and call for Simon. He heads over, wiping sleep out of his eyes.

"Sleeping at work? Very irresponsible, Simon," Clary says.

"Shut up. Everyone here is either passed out, drunk or dead." He pours Clary a Coke and Maia a Mountain Dew, knowing that neither of them are big fans of alcohol. Simon pours himself a drink and moves around the counter to sit next to them.

"How was work?" he asks them.

"Boring. Nothing happened," Maia says.

"Except for the douche," Clary says to Maia. She nods enthusiastically. Once Alec and Jace had gone, Clary had related the experience to Maia.

"Who?" Simon asks.

"This sexy hunk of a man showed up at the ER. Clary was all excited until she found out he was a major douche-bag, weren't you Clary?" Maia asks. Clary responds with an eye roll, sipping her drink. "How about you? Anything interesting happen?" Maia asks.

"Well…there was this group of women who showed up at around two for a bachelorette party. That was fun," Simon says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Pig," Clary says in response, shoving him in the shoulder. "Is Luke here?" Clary asks, thinking of her old family friend and the owner of the bar.

"He turned in early," Simon says. "So you remember the guy I told you about? Hodge?" Clary smiles, recalling Simon's colorful tales about Hodge, a crazy drunk who shows up at the bar almost every night.

"Yep." Simon launches into a tale involving Hodge stumbling into the bachelorette party and making sexual innuendos to the bride, which resulted in a loss of clothing (Hodge's) and spilled drinks (the brides, which "spilled" onto Hodge's head). Maia, Clary and Simon are laughing at the tale when the bell rings, signaling a customer. The three of them glance over, expecting to see either Luke or one of their hospital friends. Clary's stomach contracts as she sees who it is.

"Oh, it's you," Simon says. Clary glances at him, surprise on her face. _Simon knows Jace?_ she wonders. Jace strides into the bar, a highly amused expression lighting his face.

"I see my favorite bartender is on duty tonight," he tells Simon. Jace seems completely oblivious to her and Maia and takes a seat at the opposite end of the bar. Simon slips behind the counter and fills a glass with beer. He places the glass in front of Jace, grabs a dishcloth and starts wiping the bar down. The obvious tightness in Simon's slight shoulders relay his obvious hatred. Jace turns and looks at Clary, his smile growing.

"And if it isn't my favorite nurse." Simon's eyes flash to Clary, who immediately blushes. She turns her angry eyes to Jace.

"Don't talk to me. I'm not on duty. You're not my patient. There is nothing to stop me from smacking that grin right off your face." He keeps smiling, amusement playing in his gold eyes.

"You're a fiery little redhead," he says. Clary grips the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. Alec's words pop into her head. _How can such a total ass like Jace have feelings?_

"You can punch him if you want," Maia whispers to her. A small smile spreads across Clary's lips and her grip on the counter lessens. She turns to face Jace.

"And you're an arrogant little douche-bag," she responds.

"Arrogant, yes. Douche-bag, definitely. But little?" he glances down, seemingly examining himself then looks at her, his eyes scoring across her body, the fire quickly finding its way through her. "Now, I think you're being a little hypocritical there." Clary shoves against the counter and stands, stomping over to him.

"You," she says, poking his chest with a shaking finger, "are the saddest excuse for a person that I've ever met." She turns and stalks away from him, slamming the door open. Maia rushes after her, quickly catching up. She walks beside to Clary, who's now beyond anger. The steady rhythm of her feet against concrete begins to calm her. The flush of anger leaves her cheeks as they reach the hospital garage where they keep their cars.

"I…I just can't _believe_ him. I mean, honestly. How can a freaking _EMT _be such a major asshole?" Clary asks, venting her thoughts at Maia.

"I know it seems severely implausible, but we have to consider the possibility that he's actually good at his job. But that might be going a little far."

"A little far?"

"Okay. A lot far. But still. There really isn't any other reason. He—he could have relatives in the hospital who are pulling strings for him."

"Now that's possible. Some important doctor doesn't want their darling son to be a nobody and bring shame upon the good family name so they make sure he doesn't get fired. God, I hate him. I don't think I've hated someone this much this fast." Maia looks at her sideways. "Okay, I'll take it back. I hate easily, but that's not the point here. The point is he's horrible and we hate him and we're going to start a club centered around that hatred." Maia starts laughing and Clary quickly joins in, her anger forgotten.

They say their goodbyes as Clary reaches her car, a rusty black '96 Saab, Clary heads back to the apartment she and Simon share, a small rundown place that they've grown to love. She pushes the door open and immediately heads to the shower. She quickly strips out of her disgusting scrubs and jumps in, letting the warmth of the water flow over her. She scrubs furiously at her raw skin, working tirelessly to remove the layer of death that always seems to lie on her.

She finally gives up and turns the shower off. The steam in the air calms her and she becomes aware of the immense exhaustion that threatens to overcome her. She pulls on a pair of pajamas and brushes her teeth. Clary stumbles to her bed, the living room turning into a complicated maze, every object threatening to trip her up. She pushes open the door to her room and collapses onto the bed. She gives up the fight against her eyelids and lets them fall shut, quickly succumbing to a well deserved sleep.

**So that's that. Jace is all ass-y. Clary's all spunk-tastic and I threw lovely Simon in their as a bartender (something I took great pleasure in writing about). I had to make Hodge all weird because he's Hodge and he's DEFINITELY not my favorite character. Sorry if I offended anyone with my psychiatry comment. I have several comments that I could write to follow that, but I don't want to offend my lovely readers 3**


	2. Trauma

**Sorry this chapter took such an obnoxiously long time. I re-wrote this one after the first attempt ended up being shallow, unbelievable and generally crap-tastic. So I posted the new and improved version. **

_**For those of you who have already read this chapter: I posted this after working on it for 6 hours. I re-read it the next morning and thought: "Wow. This sucks. Let's re-write it…again!" So I did. You can skip up until the Jace section. That's where I started changing it. **_

_Our Favorite __Mortal Instruments __quote of the chapter:_

"'_Jace?'_

'_Yeah?'  
'How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood? Was there some way you could tell?' The elevator arrived with a final groan. Jace unlatched the gate and slid it open. The inside reminded Clary of a birdcage, all black metal and decorative bits of gilt._

'_I guessed,' he said, latching the door behind them. 'It seemed like the most likely explanation.'  
'You guessed? You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me.' He pressed a button in the wall, and the elevator lurched into action with a vibrating groan that she felt all through the bones in her feet. _

'_I was ninety percent sure.'  
'I see,' Clary said. There must have been something in her voice, because he turned to look at her. Her hand cracked across his face, a slap that rocked him back on his heels. He put a hand to his cheek, more in surprise than pain. _

'_What the hell was that for?'  
'The other ten percent,' she said, and they rode the rest of the way down to the street in silence._

_ -Clary and Jace_

**oOo**

Weak sunlight filters through the window. Clary rolls over and flings her hand over her eyes, silently willing the sun to go away and let her sleep. She pulls the blanket over her head and tucks her cold feet closer to her. Simon's in the kitchen, making breakfast, seemingly unaware that she's trying to sleep. She pulls a pillow over her head attempting to muffle the sound of Simon's off-key singing. She's half-asleep when her door bursts open. Her bed bows under Simon's weight as he sits half on top of her.

"Wakey wakey," he says, pulling the blankets off of her. She holds the pillow against her face, willing herself to go back to sleep. "Breakfast, Clary. Let's enter the world of the living now." Clary's response is grumbled obscenities. "I'm giving you five seconds to get out of that bed. One, two—"

"Go away, _Mom_," she says.

"Three, four, four and a half…come on Clary," Simon says in a sing-songy voice. She ignores him and rolls over so her back is to him. "Five." He picks her up and flings her over his shoulder, carrying her, not without effort, out of her room. Clary's small fists pound against his back.

"Ouch! Watch where you put those things."

"_Simon_! Let go of me!"

"Clary, do you know what time it is?" he asks her. "It's six. As in at night. You slept for more than twelve hours. It's wake-up time. You have work in an hour."

"No I don't," she protests, knowing very well that she did.

"Come on Clary," Simon says, huffing from the effort of carrying her resisting body to the kitchen. He drops her in a chair and looks at her sternly. "I made you pancakes. You're going to eat your pancakes. Then you are going to put on your scrubs and go to the hospital. Understood?" Clary nods. Simon smiles, apparently proud of himself. He puts a small stack of pancakes in front of her and she starts shoveling them into her mouth. She quickly finishes them and heads first to her bedroom to grab her clothes then to the bathroom. She washes her face with cold water, washing the last of the sleep from her eyes. She pulls off her pajamas and puts on her mint green scrubs.

Her hair, which is an unmanageable mess, ends up in a ponytail. She gives herself a once-over, not liking the circles under her eyes. The green of her scrubs only makes her red hair brighter. She turns away from her reflection, no longer wanting to see all of her faults. Simon's leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, a pair of her socks in one hand and her white work sneakers in the other.

"Thanks, Simon," she says with a smile. She pulls on her shoes, puts her phone in her pocket and grabs her keys, heading for the door with a small wave as a goodbye to Simon.

"Clary! Your coat!" he shouts after her. She turns and he throws the small black jacket to her.

"Thanks again!" she says, heading out the door while shrugging on her jacket.

"Have good night at work!" he calls after her.

"You too!" She walks down the hallway and checks her watch. It's six forty-five. She silently curses herself, knowing that she'll probably be late. She takes the stairs two at a time at a near run. She swings around the corner and runs right into someone, knocking both of them to the ground.

"Sorry!" she says quickly. "I'm really sor—oh! It's you," she says her apology quickly dying when she sees who it is.

"Nice to see you too," Jace says, standing and brushing himself off. "Well then. It feels like we're living in some badly written novel. Honestly, this isn't supposed to happen in real life."

"Yeah. It's thrilling," she mutters, not in the mood to fight with anyone, let alone the ass she met last night.

"You sound excited," he says, sarcasm dripping from his words. "You should be. You'll be living in the same building as me. We can become the best of friends. And eventually my insanely good looks will drive you to enter my room at some obscure hour of the night and rip all my clothes off. Then the next morning we'll both agree it was a mistake and be awkward around each other for a few months. Then eventually we'll have a conversation about our feelings in which you tell me about your engagement and you'll ask me to be your maid-of-honor. And then I'll decline and end up interrupting your wedding and declaring my love to you. After that—"

"Does this have a point?" Clary asks.

"You just interrupted my story. Of course, it was already ruined if you actually don't live here and were either robbing my neighbors or being a dirty little girl who was upstairs with your dirty little boyfriend."

"I have to go to work," Clary says behind her as she walks away.

"I'll tell your boy-toy you said hello," Jace says walking in the other direction. Clary stops in her tracks.

"You class A ass!" she says, turning and walking towards him. "Would it be impossible for you to be nice to someone? Or is it just me you act like—like _this_ to?" She's stopped in front of him, her hands gesturing wildly around her as he looks at her with an amused expression.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm an ass to everyone."

"You're unbelievable," Clary says. "One day, something will happen to you and you'll need someone to be there for you and you're going to look around and realize that you have no one. And then you'll be sorry that you wasted your life being so horrible." She turns around again and walks away, waves of anger rolling off of her. She makes it to her car and throws open the door, shivering as she puts the key in the ignition and turns up the heat. Once the car is heated she makes her way to the hospital, trying not to take her anger out on her car.

**oOo**

Jace watches her as she storms away from him, her bright red ponytail swaying to the rhythm of her steps. He doesn't move as he digests what she just told him. _You're going to look around and realize that you have no one. And then you'll be sorry that you wasted your life being so horrible_. She didn't even bother to call him an ass. And that's how he knows she was being serious.

_What if she's right?_ he asks himself. He imagines a time where he's pushed everyone away from him and immediately pushes the image away. The door slams shut behind her, bringing with it a burst of cold air. The chill knocks him to his senses and he starts climbing the ancient stairs. He pushes the redhead's words to the back of his mind and locks them there. He stops at his floor and takes a deep breath before stepping into the hall. He slips his key into the lock and pushes the door open.

"Hey, Jace. How was your walk?" Isabelle asks, standing behind the counter in the kitchen, making something that Jace knows will be disgusting. Alec and Jace share an apartment with Isabelle, Alec's sister. Jace has known the two of them since the Lightwood's took him in after his father died when Jace was 10.

"Long. Uneventful," Jace says.

"I'm making soup. Do you want some soup?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll order a pizza." Isabelle looks up at him, one hand on her hips, the other one holding a spoon which she waves threateningly at him.

"Jace Wayland. I made soup. You are going to eat my soup."

"I don't think so," Jace says, picking up the phone and dialing the number. "Where's Alec?" he asks as the phone rings.

"In his room. He came home a few minutes ago and passed out." Jace nods in response as he orders two large pepperoni pizza's, guessing that will be enough for the three of them. This is what always happens. Isabelle tries to play happy home-maker and ends up creating a disgusting pot of slop. She pretends to eat it then waits until Jace and Alec aren't paying attention and steals a piece of pizza while Jace and Alec pretend not to notice.

"Are you working tonight?" Isabelle asks.

"Yep."

"They're letting you work after yesterday?" Jace wrinkles his nose in disgust. Last night, a little girl had died on the way to the hospital. The only thing Jace could think of while she had coded was the look of relief on her parents face when the paramedics had told them that she was going to be fine. And then she had died. So Jace what he usually did when he was stressed; he punched something. Except this time it was a window which ended in a pissed off landlord, a trip to the hospital, and a scolding from his boss, Imogen. Jace glances down at his hand. _Just more scars to add to the collection_, he thinks, absent-mindedly rubbing the skin over his stomach.

"Yeah. I doubt they'll let me do anything, though."

"It's not like you don't deserve it," Isabelle says with a smile on her face.

"I know. You don't have to look so smug, though," Jace replies.

"It's about time you get knocked down for your anger problems." Jace rolls his eyes and drops onto the couch. He turns on the news and watches as the newscasters spout the daily crap about which celebrity is in which rehab clinic and what the politicians screwed up today. He half pays attention as he waits for the pizza to show up.

"From Fox News this is the Mideast update," the newscaster says. Jace freezes his eyes locked on the TV as his heart rate skyrockets. "Air raid sirens in Saudi Arabia. Moments later a US patriot blast. Witnesses report…" but that's all Jace hears. His mind is in another world, thousands of miles from here. He sees the explosions. Hears the sounds of thousands of bullets. Feels the blast of a grenade.

Suddenly Isabelle's hands are on him, shaking him fiercely.

"Jace! Jace!" He gasps in breath and grasps Isabelle's wrists. His vision clears and he focuses on her face. He glances at the TV set, glad to see it's off.

"Okay. Okay," he says to calm himself down. "No more news. As in ever." Isabelle lets out a breath, not looking amused. She sits in the chair next to him and puts her head in her hands. The doorbell rings, they both jump a little, neither finding the moment funny. Jace stands on shaky legs to answer the door. Pizza. He pays the delivery boy and takes the boxes inside. He puts them on the counter and sits on a stool. All his hunger was gone.

"Are you okay?" Isabelle asks.

"Fine," Jace says. He's glad to find his voice is not shaky.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"PTSD. It does that to a person."

"I didn't know it was that bad."

"It's that bad." Isabelle says nothing.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks. Jace takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly out.

"Can we please forget anything happened?" Jace asks.

"You can't just—" _Thank you, Alec_¸ Jace thinks as Alec pushes open his door and ending the argument for now. Isabelle shoots him a look as if to say, _this isn't over_.

"You ordered pizza?" he asks Jace. "Smart." He opens the box and picks up a piece. "What did I miss?" Isabelle shoots Jace a look then walks back to the kitchen to stir her soup.

"Nothing much. Isabelle's convinced she can cook. I'm trying to set her strait but she's stubborn." Alec smiles and offers Jace a slice. He snatches one from the box and quickly devours it.

"I gotta head to work. Can I give anyone a ride?" he asks.

"Actually, I have a date and my car won't start. Can you give me a ride to the Pandemonium?"

"What's wrong with your car?" Jace asks.

"Like I know," Isabelle responds, turning off the burner.

"Did you look at it Alec?" Alec snorts in response.

"I did, but it wasn't any of the three things I actually know how to fix."

"I'll look at it later. Come on Isabelle," Jace says, grabbing another slice of pizza and his keys. "I don't want to be late. Imogen's already looking for blood. I don't need to give her more ammunition against me."

"I have to change!" Isabelle says. Jace checks his watch and quickly does the math.

"You have about 10 minutes." Isabelle raises her eyebrows at him.

"Because I can get ready in ten minutes."

"You have nine minutes and fifty seconds. Hurry." Isabelle curses under her breath and runs to her room where Alec and Jace hear the chaotic sounds of Isabelle getting ready. Jace walks into the room he shares with Alec and quickly pulls on his uniform. He's back in the kitchen after two minutes. Finally, Isabelle pushes out of her room, clad in a skin-tight black dress and a pair of what can only be described as stripper boots.

"Nice," Jace says sarcastically. "Are you trying to give off 'whore' vibes?" he asks.

"Ass," Isabelle mutters as she leaves the apartment with a wave to Alec. Jace's car is parked in front of the building, making the time Jace has before his interrogation annoyingly short. "I can't just forget what happened today," Isabelle says as Jace starts the car and puts it into drive.

"Try," Jace responds, flying out into the crowded streets. A car honks as he cuts them off.

"Jace…" Isabelle says, trailing off. Jace can guess that she doesn't know what to say. _Just get to the club as quick as possible_, he tells himself, running through a red light. "You're going to get us killed," Isabelle says. Jace says nothing to that, pulling up to the Pandemonium in record time. He leans across Isabelle to open to door. "Thanks for the ride," she says, almost sarcastically, as she closes the door behind her. He pulls away and heads to the station. The traffic is bad and he ends up being ten minutes late. The second he opens the doors of the station, the vultures (or more accurately, vulture) is upon him.

"Are you trying to get yourself fired, Mr. Wayland?" Imogen asks him.

"No, ma'am."

"Well it seems to me you are. I'm beginning to wonder why we hired such an irresponsible hooligan." _Nobody says 'hooligan'_, Jace thinks to himself. He's learned to filter his comments around Imogen. Usually he likes it when he gets a rise out of people, but with Imogen, it's too easy so he doesn't bother. "You're lucky I'm not sending you home." _Because that would be the absolute _worst_ thing to ever happen,_ Jace thinks.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asks.

"Of course I want you to stay! The roads are icy and we're understaffed! I can't exactly send you home!" As she says that, the phone rings, signaling an emergency. "See what I mean!" she says, answering the phone. Her face falls. "We have a crash at the intersection of First and Housten. Malik and Stephen, come with me. Amatis and Jace, you stay here." Jace groans and walked over to the couch in one corner of the room. He collapses into it and throws his arm over his eyes. Imogen and her team rush to the ambulance. Jace hears it fly out of the garage and down the streets, jealousy flooding him. Car crashes were always the most eventful.

"Babysitting service. Great," Amatis says. Jace chooses to ignore her. After a few minutes, exhaustion begins to settle in. Punching a window. His run in with the redhead. His…episode. His fight with Isabelle. He stretches out on the couch and counts down from 100. When that doesn't calm his turbulent mind he counts down from 1,000. When he's at 532, the phone rings. Amatis snatches it up quickly. Jace can tell from her stance that it's nothing good.

"Sixty year old man complaining about chest pains. His wife's worried it's a heart attack," Amatis shouts out. She hangs up the phone. "Fun." She heads out to the ambulance at a near run. Jace takes the shotgun seat and watches the world fly by as they race out of the garage and down the streets. They arrive at the man's house in a matter of minutes.

The wife is hysterical, tears streaming down her face as she fusses over her husband. He tries to comfort her between huffs of breath. Amatis checks his heart rate and blood pressure, finding their both elevated. She performs the basic tests while Jace questions the wife. They finish around the same time Jace does.

"I'm sorry to say it looks like you may be having a heart attack. I recommend you let us take you to the hospital," Amaits says. The wife starts crying hysterically. Amatis comforts her, telling her she can only go in the ambulance with us if she calms down. Jace silently curses him, not wanting to bother with the wife. He rushes out to the ambulance and grabs the stretcher. Jace and Amatis help the man onto the stretcher. They lift him into the ambulance and head to the hospital. Amatis drives while Jace stays in the back, tending to the sick man and his frantic wife. The trip is short and the staff is already there waiting for them. Jace sees that the redhead is out with them. He throws open the back doors of the ambulance and jumps out. A pair of doctors roll a gurney over. Jace and Amatis help to position the man on it. The doctors roll the gurney away. Jace helps the man's wife down from the ambulance, ignoring the pain her iron grip causes his injured left hand, and leads her through the double doors.

"You can wait here, ma'am," Jace says, motioning to the waiting room. He turns to walk away, but the old woman grabs onto his arm, her small, fragile hand shaking on his bicep. The hysterical tears have stopped, only to be replaced by slow sad ones.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asks quietly. Jace immediately feels bad for his earlier judgment of her. He allows the tension in his face to lessen as her reassures the woman that her husband will be just fine.

"Will you tell me—"she swallows hard as a surge of tears threaten to overcome her. "Will you tell me if anything—if anything happens?"

"Of course," he answers.

"Thank you," she whispers, releasing his hand and moving to sit in a chair. He walks away and heads to the room they wheeled the man into.

"How's he doing?" he asks.

"He's having a minor heart attack," answers an elaborately dressed man. He's wearing a bold pink shirt and pants that are a strange shade of blue, border line purple.

"His wife is worried about him." Jace can feel the redhead's eyes on him from across the room.

"She can see him in a few minutes." The doctor looks down at the patient. "It looks like you're going to be fine, sir. We're going to keep you overnight for observation. We'll talk to you later about what you should do to avoid another heart episode, but there's nothing you should really worry about." The man gives his thanks and the doctor nods, half listening as he finishes his examination. Jace leaves the room and walks over to the wife.

"You're husbands going to be fine. You can see him in a few minutes." The woman starts crying again, tears of happiness this time. She flings herself at Jace and starts hugging him. _I forgot about this_, Jace thought to himself. _All of this hugging crap_. Jace weakly hugs her back and lets her sob into his chest. He sees the redhead walk in. Her eyebrows are raised in amusement.

"Mrs. Johan?" the redhead asks. The wife turns around to look at her. "You can see your husband now." The woman, Mrs. Johan, has a death grip on Jace's arm. He walks with her to her husband's room. She lets go of Jace and runs to her husband as soon as she sees him. Jace fights to hide the smile on his face. He leaves the room with the redhead, the silence crackling with tension.

"I see you're not an ass to everyone," she says bitterly.

"Not now, Red. I can't deal with you right now."

"What did you just call me?" she asks.

"Red. As in, 'Person With Red Hair'. But that's a little wordy so I shortened it."

"Great." She turns a corner quickly, one Jace knows leads to Pediatrics. Jace can guess it was just to avoid spending more time with him. _Way to be an ass_, he thinks. A few seconds later he hears footsteps behind him. Red walks beside him, her head held defiantly high.

"I decided this is my hospital and if you want to be an ass then be an ass. But you don't get to be an ass to me and get away with it," she explains. "You can be the one who avoids me. Capisce?" Jace shoots her an amused look.

"Whatever

"Good." They lapse back into silence. "Why?" she asks.

"Why what?"

"Why are you such an ass?" He half snorts, half laughs, coming up with a thousand good reasons for him to act the way he does, but having trouble settling on one.

"Red. There are not enough hours in the day for me to tell you all my reasons for being an ass. But let me tell you one thing. I have plenty of good reasons."

"That's not a very good answer."

"I've had a hard life," Jace says, his face fixed in an expressionless mask.

"And that's why you get to be an ass?"

"Yep."

"I hope you know you're not the only one who's been handed a pile of crap for a life. Having a suck-y life doesn't give you an excuse to act like a douche." This simple conversation brings small onslaughts of memories. His dad. Blood. Suitcases. He briefly closes his eyes to push away the images and allow him to focus on the present. "And now you say nothing. Do you really think you're the only one—" But Jace isn't hearing her anymore. Her voice brings more memories up to the surface. He sees a battlefield. A gun held in his scarred hand. Jace quickly slaps his finger to his stomach to bring him back. He can feel the thick scars through the material of his shirt. The grenade goes off in his mind. He stops and reaches for the wall, something solid that will anchor him to the real world.

"Red, stop," he snarls. He clenches his eyes shut and grips the front of his shirt, using the pain from his injured hand to remind him of where he is. Jace can feel Red next to him, her small body stiff. She's silent, like he asked, waiting for something to happen that she can handle. He pushes down the memory and opens his eyes. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and pushes off the wall.

"Are you alright?" Red asks.

"No," he answers. He hurries down the hall. _What the hell just happened?_ he asks himself. He'd never had an episode so suddenly like that with no apparent trigger. Earlier it had been the footage, and now… _It must have been the subject_¸ he thinks. He can hear Red walking a few steps behind him.

"Okay," she says. "I know I'm kind of a bitch, but I'm also a nurse and I just saw something that looks kind of medical, I guess. And it's in my contract to do something about it." He turns to face her. She squeaks in surprise, narrowly avoiding running into him.

"I'm fine. Really. This is my normal." He turns and keeps walking with her following him.

"Do you—I mean…" He hears her take a deep breath.

"Spit it out, Red."

"I don't know."

"Good." He stops and faces her, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Don't speak a word of this to anyone, understand?" Red nods. He watches her as she thinks. He can see the cogs in her brain working as she processes what just happened.

"Shit!" she finally says. "You really do have a screwed up life!"

"Thanks," Jace says, releasing her and walking again.

"No! I'm sorry. That sounded bad." He doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing. He remembers her earlier words about spending his life alone and decides to be nice for once. He stops one more time to face her. "I'm sorry. It's been a bad day. Hell, it's been a bad year. I can't deal with this right now, okay?" She nods slowly and turns around to leave him alone.

He makes it back to the ER and leaves in the ambulance with Amatis. He spends the ride calming his frantic nerves and cursing himself for not being a better person.

**I hope this was better!**


	3. Death Trap

_Our Favorite Mortal Instruments Quote of the Chapter:_

"_Don't doubt my weaseling abilities, Shadowhunter, for they are epic and memorable in their scope.__" _

_- __Magnus Bane_

**oOo**

"You ready to get handed a can of whoop ass?" Clary asks, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck.

"In your dreams, Fray." Clary glances at her best friend and stretches into her running stance. "Five…four…three…two…"

"One!" Clary shouts as she shoots forward. She works her arms as she runs. She leans forward as she full out sprints. She can feel Simon slowly falling behind. Her lungs ache with the exertion but she doesn't stop. She pours on more speed, feeling a thin trickle of sweat run down her back. She slows as she crosses the finish line. She starts her victory dance as Simon catches up, his hand clutched on his side. He leans over with his hands on his knees, huffing loudly.

"Re-match, Lewis?" she asks.

"So I can get my ass kicked by a girl again? No thanks." Clary smiled triumphantly, stretching out her muscles. She glances quickly at her watch, noting that she has only two hours until she's back at the hospital. She sighs audibly, earning herself a glance from Simon.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

"No," she lies, her mind flashing to Jace and what she witnessed yesterday. Fear fills her as she remembers watching the seemingly strong boy gasp and shake as he confronted his invisible ghosts. She quickly shakes herself from her memories and glances at Simon. She watches as he reaches down, attempting to touch his toes and failing miserably.

"Would you stop staring, Fray. I know I'm stunningly attractive, but it would be nice if you could exhibit _some_ self control." Clary rolls her eyes and walks to the edge of the track where she had dropped her sweatshirt. She pulls it over her head, the cool air already getting to her after the run.

"Come on, Lewis. Pizza time." Simon hurries runs over and snatches Clary's keys out of her hands.

"We're going to Taki's!" he shouts over his shoulder, running forward. Clary wrinkles her nose, remembering the last time she went to Taki's. Simon had met Kaelie, a whore who loved to fling herself at every guy who walked in the door. Simon thought he stood a chance with her and Clary didn't have the heart to set him straight. She walks behind him, biting back a laugh as she watches the awkward way he runs. He jumps in the driver's seat and turns on the car.

"You coming?" he shouts out to her. She tries to hide her grin as she walks towards him. He honks the horn, playing at impatience. Clary slows down, just to bother him.

"We don't have all day, Fray!" he shouts out the window. Clary jogs forward, ready to feed her protesting stomach.

"Patience is a virtue," she grumbles, yanking open the door and plopping in the seat. He drives off, faster then she would have. "Can you be more careful?" she asks sternly. "My poor car can't take your 'the fast and the furious' driving style."

"Sorry. I forgot, driving Ms. Daisy." Clary sticks her tongue out at him and he laughs, jerking fiercely around the corner. Simon laughs at Clary's pale face and slows down, driving exactly the speed limit all the way to Taki's, making sure to mock her the whole way. Simon throws the door open as soon as it's parked and hurries forward. Clary smiles to herself and follows him into the restaurant. He freezes in the doorway, his shoulders tense. Clary glances around the room, looking to see what caused his reaction. She wrinkles her nose at the sight of the now familiar tangle of blonde hair and strong shoulders.

Jace turns. His golden eyes darken when he realizes who it is. They flick to Simon and the darkness fades from his eyes. A cocky smirk pulls on his lips.

"Stalking me, Lewis?" he calls. Simon catches Clary's wrist and turns.

"Let's go," he says.

"Leaving so soon?" Jace asks. Clary doesn't allow herself to be pulled away. She digs her heels into the hard ground as best she can and pulls against Simon's grip. She flashes him a furious gaze.

"You're just going to take that?" she whispers furiously.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks.

"You're so dim sometimes, Si. Tell him what an ass he is!"

"Clary. He has half a foot on me. And probably fifty pounds, of _muscle_. If I told him I think he's an ass, then you would be planning my funeral."

"_I_ told him he's an ass," Clary said.

"Yeah. And you're a girl. A hot girl. He appreciates that. So you get to survive." Clary rolls her eyes, choosing to ignore his protests.

"That has nothing to do with anything," Clary shoots back.

"Whatever," he says walking away.

"Simon!" she calls after him. He stops and turns. "I need my keys," she says with a grin. She knows how much Simon hates public transportation and the apartment was too far away to reasonably walk to. He wrinkles his nose and walks over to her.

"I hate you, Fray."

"No you don't. You love me." They plop down in a booth. Clary meets Jace's eyes. He raises his eyebrows, his eyes shining with amusement. Clary scowls and breaks the gaze, turning her eyes to look at Simon, whose muttering obscenities under his breath.

"Watch your language," she scolds grabbing a menu.

"From the one whose mouth couldn't even be cleaned by Orbit."

"Lame joke," she muttered, trying to hide her smile. Kaelie came over to take their order. Clary ordered, her voice clipped and unfeeling. Simon was salivating too much to say anything, so Clary ordered for him. Simon's eyes follow Kaelie as she walks away, his gaze lingering on her ass. Clary sighs and gives an exaggerated eye roll.

"Shut it," he said. Clary smirks and brings her knees up to her chest. She wraps her arms around her shins and rests her chin on her knees. She smiles again and fiddles with the leg of her jeans. She feels eyes on her and turns to see Jace, who meets her eyes and waggles his eyebrows, not looking embarrassed that she caught him looking at her. She turns her eyes back to Simon's and asks him about the bar, trying to distract him from Kaelie who's flirting with Jace again. Simon prattles on for a few minutes and Clary tunes him out, nodding at what she assumes are the right places. She glances back over at Jace and sees he's studying her. His golden gaze captures me and I remember the attraction I felt towards him. He may be an ass, but he's a gorgeous ass. He smirks as if guessing her thoughts and she breaks the brief connection.

"…tomorrow. Sound good?" Simon says. Clary frantically searches her mind, trying to force her subconscious into remembering what had happened. Apparently it doesn't respond to bullying.

"Sounds great," she replies, lying shamelessly.

"We're leaving at around 6 AM, so I'll pick you up from work around 5:45." _What did I just agree to?_ she asks herself. She smiles, not trusting her voice to hide her confusion. Kaelie comes over and sets their drinks on the table, taking special care to lean over more than what's absolutely necessary so Simon gets a good look at her boobs. Clary grips onto the cool glass, fighting with the instinct to pour it on her head. Simon flushes a furious red and trains his gaze right where she wants him to. Clary kicks him under the table. "Ow!" he says. Clary shoots him a pointed glare.

"Is there anything I should bring tomorrow?" she asks trying to figure out what they were doing.

"Light sweatshirt. Comfortable shoes. A helmet." _Well that told me nothing, _she thinks. Clary sits there and runs through the possibilities in her head. She decides it must be a biking trip or something and leaves it at that.

"I have to go to work," Clary tells him. He wrinkles his nose.

"We haven't eaten yet," he protests.

"You're not here to eat. You're here to look down Kaelie's shirt." He blushes and stands up, leaving a more then generous tip on the table. Clary shoots one quick glance at the bar and sees Jace still sitting there. She shakes off her conflicting feelings of anger and sympathy and leaves the restaurant. She hands Simon the keys and tells him to drive her to the hospital.

"You can be very bossy," he says. She shrugs in response. He shakes his head and pulls away. Clary turns on the radio to a station she knows Simon doesn't like and blasts it, shaking her head to the beat.

"Why do you listen to this crap?" Simon asks.

"This is not crap. This is music. Good music." Simon endures the music (not so silently) until they pull up to the hospital. He leans over her to push open her door and pushes her out.

"Off you go," he says, turning off the radio. Clary grins to herself.

"My bag," she says, gesturing to the messenger bag in the back seat with her scrubs in them. He reaches back and throws them to her. "Have a nice day, Simon!" she calls, too pleasantly, as he pulls away.

**oOo**

"Nurse!" someone shouts. Clary glances up from her paperwork. She sees a beautiful, black-haired paramedic, attached to a gurney, standing at the doors to the hospital. Clary hurries over. "Where is everyone?" she asks.

"We had two other traumas come in. They're all busy."

"Why did no one answer their pagers?" the girl asks. Clary cocks her head to the side and helps the girl pull the gurney through the hospital doors.

"There was no page. Unless everyone's pagers died simultaneously. But I don't think that's it." The two of them pull the patient into trauma room 3, with the help of a red-haired, older man.

"Can you get a doctor?" the man asks. Clary nods and hurries out. She peeks her head into trauma room 2 and sees Dr. Bane working to sew a man's leg back together.

"Dr. Bane?" she calls.

"Busy," he grunts, his eyes never leaving his patient.

"We need a doctor in trauma 3," Clary says.

"What's wrong with the patient." Clary freezes and forces her mind to work backwards.

"She…well she's unconscious. That's all I could tell."

"How old?"

"Thirties, maybe forties."

"Page Dr. Lightwood. Maryse, not Robert." She nods and quickly sends a page. She hurries back to the patient. A few minutes later, Dr. Lightwood showed up.

"Hey, mom," the female paramedic said. Clary gave herself a few moments of disbelief before returning her attention to the patient.

"Isabelle."

"Rose McAllister. Forty-seven years old. Collapsed. Regained consciousness once on the way here. BP's 86 over 64. She appears to be relatively stable." As Dr. Lightwood examines the patient, she starts to wake up.

"Where—what…" Rose says.

"You're at a hospital Ms. McAllister. We're trying to figure out what's wrong with you."

"Do you have any pre-existing heart conditions?" Dr. Lightwood asks. Rose shakes her head. "What have you had to drink today?" Dr. Lightwood asks.

"Some wine. That's about it."

"Have you had much to drink in the last few days." Ms. McAllister makes an effort to think back.

"Not really," she responds.

"I believe you're suffering from severe dehydration. We'll put you on an IV and check up on you later."

"Is that—am I going to die?" Dr. Lightwoods eyes soften and she gently pats Rose's hand.

"You are not going to die."

"Thank you Doctor…?"

"Lightwood. Nurse, put her on a drip and keep her monitored." Clary glances at her watch. 5:30. Fifteen minutes until Simon picks me up. She realizes she'll have to find someone to watch Ms. McAllister. She wheels Ms. McAllister up into a recovery room, quickly hooks the woman up to the IV then hurries to find a nurse.

"Maia!" she calls, seeing her friend walk through the ER doors. An easy smile spreads over her face as she lopes over.

"Hey, Clary."

"I'm off in five. There's a woman in room 313 that I need someone to monitor…" Clary gives Maia a hopeful look. Maia rolls her eyes in fake frustration.

"I'll cover her."

"Thank you!" she calls over her shoulder as she hurries away. She heads to the locker room and changes into her street clothes. When she heads back to the ER she sees Simons already there, waiting for her. They hurry to her car and he drives them to the Wal-Mart parking lot.

"What are we doing here?" she asks. He shoots her a look.

"Picking up Eric. We're going to carpool. We went over this yesterday."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I forgot." He raises her eyebrows at her and pulls up next to Eric's car. He jumps in the back, greeting Simon with some ridiculous handshake. Clary fights an eye roll. The ride to…wherever they were going was loud, filled with Eric's poor attempts at humor. Clary closed her eyes and tried to sleep, exhausted after a nights worth of working. Eventually Eric's voice fades from her consciousness and blissful sleep engulfs her.

**oOo**

"Clary. Clary. Wake up!" Simon's voice pulls her out of her dreams and into reality. She glances out the window and see's their on some sort of campus. Simon pulls her out of the car and plops a helmet on her head, buckling it under her chin. "You ready?" he asks, his eyes sparking with excitement.

"Err..yeah." He pulls her around a brick building and she finally sees what they're doing. She, Simon, and Eric were standing on top of a ridiculously large hill. Halfway down the hill was a large plastic ball, one big enough to fit a person. One that actually had a person in it. She could almost feel her jaw hit the ground.

"What. The. Hell." Simon shoots her a worried look which turns into anger.

"You weren't listening to me yesterday, were you?" he asks.

"You've brought me to the place I'm going to die, haven't you?" she snaps back. He smiles wickedly.

"This," he says, gesturing grandly to the view in front of him, "is Zorb ball." Clary shoots him a blank stare. "It was invented in New Zealand."

"Yes. Because that clears up _everything_."

"It's actually really simple. You climb in the ball. Someone pushes you down the hill. Eventually you stop. You get out of the ball."

"Where does dying factor into this?"

"It doesn't."

"Who the hell owns one of these things?"

"Kaelie's brother," Simon responds.

"And where did Kaelie's brother get it?" she asks, seriously angry.

"E-bay."

"You've got to be kidding me." His smile broadens.

"Loosen up, Fray. Have some fun." She watches as two people crawl out of the ball, laughing. They slowly start to push it upward. She walks away from Simon in search of someone she might know and as luck may have it, she sees someone. Tall. With blonde hair. And bright golden eyes. _I _must_ be imagining this_, she thinks. But no, there's Jace, loping over to her.

"Hey, Red," he says with a cocky grin. "I didn't know you and slutty waitress were friends," he states. Kaelie.

"We're not."

"Crashing our party then."

"I was dragged here against my will."

"I see." He gives her a once over and smirks. "Nice helmet." She quickly unbuckles it and lifts it off her head.

"It's all yours. I'm not going on that death trap."

"Neither am I."

"Really?" she asks, true curiosity coloring her words.

"I'm not suicidal." She glances over and sees Simon climbing into the ball. She winces, fully expecting to see her friends blood spattered across the lawn. She can hear his screams of joy as he rolls down the hill.

"Crazy freakin' nerd," she mutters to herself. She hears Jace's light chuckle and regrets saying anything. Simon already gets enough crap from Jace. "I'm going to go look for someone I actually like. Have a nice day." He catches her arm.

"About yesterday…"

"Yes, yes. It was a moment of weakness. It wasn't actually you, it was your twin. If I speak a word of it to anyone I'll die. I get it. You can release my arm now."

"That's not what I want to say. Can you come with me?" he asks.

"I don't have sex on the first date." He rolls his eyes.

"As alluring as that prospect is, I don't want to have sex with you. Well, right now that is."

"Leave me alone." His face sobers and he tightens his grip on her arm.

"Please." She fights a silent battle with herself, quickly weighing the pros and cons. The sad look in his eyes persuades her.

"Fine. I'll go with you."


	4. On The Edge

_**Our Favorite **__**Mortal Instruments**__** quote of the chapter:**_

_**"**__**Mom and Dad won't be pleased if they find out.**__**" **_

_**"**__**That you freed a possible criminal by trading away your brother to a warlock who looks like a gay Sonic the Hedgehog and dresses like the Child Catcher from **__**Chitty Chitty Bang Bang**__**? No, probably not."**___

_** -Simon and Isabelle**_

**oOo**

"Where are we going?"

"It's a secret."

"Jeez. A secret. Now don't I feel special." She follows him through the winding path. It feels as if they've already walked around campus twice, but he claims they haven't.

"Nothing is more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm." He stops suddenly. Clary stops right before she runs into him. "I don't know your name," he says turning to look at her.

"Clary."

"Don't you want to know my name."

"I already do." He shoots her a funny look. "You showed up in my ER. I'm supposed to record my patient's name."

"Oh. Right," he says, turning and continuing down the path. Clary follows a few steps behind him, keeping a comfortable distance between the two. He heads straight towards the woods that surround the campus.

"Where are we going again?"

"Currently? The parking lot."

"Smart ass," she mutters under her breath. "I'm not going unless you tell me where we're going." She stops and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Come on, Red. Stop being such a spoil sport." She gives him a glare as a response. "How about this. I'll tell you where we're going if you guess it right." Clary considers his offer. Curiosity wins over sensibility.

"Fine." He starts walking again and she follows. "Are we going to your favorite strip club?"

"No," he says, shooting her an angry glance.

"Are you taking me back to your bedroom to rip away my innocence?"

"In your dreams, Red."

"Are we going deep into the woods where you can kill me and nobody will hear my screams?"

"Close, but not quite."

"Wait. What?" He says nothing. "Fine. Are we going to your love cabin?"

"I don't have a love cabin. I don't do cabins." He approaches a beat-up white car and pulls open the passenger's seat. "In you go." Clary eyes the car suspiciously.

"What is this?"

"This," he says, affectionately patting the car, "is Betty. She is the best car ever made." Clary sighs and climbs in.

"I never would have guessed your soft spot is an old car." He grimaces and swings around to the other side, hopping into the driver's seat.

"Betty's been my car since my freshman year of college. I have gotten into a single accident since I got her."

"I see. Can you give me a hint?" she asks, pulling on her seatbelt.

"A hint for what?"

"For where we're going."

"I don't think so." He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, taking the left that leads them away from the city.

"I see we're heading away from civilization. I think my being murdered in the woods guess isn't too far off," she says.

"I'm much more classy then a killing in the woods." Clary rolls her eyes and attempts a topic change.

"How far away are we?"

"Five minutes."

"Does Betty have a radio?" Clary asks.

"Does Betty have a radio," he says, shaking his head. "What a stupid question." Jace hits a button on the control panel and the car floods with music. The tune is vaguely familiar, soft and sweet. The underscoring of piano perfectly accompanies the singer's soulful voice.

"What is this?" Clary asks.

"'Boston' by Augustana."

"It's nice." Jace pulls down a dirt road, humming along to the song. When he gets to the chorus he starts softly sing along. His voice is surprisingly soft and sad. Clary becomes quiet and unmoving, unwilling to break the almost eerie feeling his singing has created. After another minute down the twisting road, Jace parks and turns off the car, cutting off the song. Clary tries to hide her disappointment. Jace steps out of the car and Clary follows suit.

"Where are we?" she asks. He smiles.

"Stop asking questions or you'll ruin it." He follows the road for a few more feet then branches off onto an almost overgrown path. They walk in silence. After a little while he stops. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Red. What did I say about the questions?" Clary closes her eyes.

"How will I know where to go?" She hears him sigh then feels his hand clasped over her eyes. She lets in a startled breath. He leads her forward, his hand resting on her waist. His hands send thrills of warmth up and down her spine. After another minute, they stop. Clary feels an open breeze on her face and can tell they're in some sort of clearing.

"Keep your eyes closed," he says, releasing her. Clary feels a wave of warmth leave her body. "Okay. Open them." Her eyes shoot open and she takes in the scene in front of her.

"Holy shit," she says breathily. She's standing approximately five feet from the edge of a massive cliff. Fear sweeps over her, making her nauseous. She sees Jace, his legs dangling over the edge and his torso twisted so he's watching her. His excited eyes quickly turn worried as he takes in her reaction.

"Are you alright?"

"We're—we're on the edge of a—of a frickin' cliff!" An easy smile spreads across his face.

"Ignore the drop. Focus on everything else." Clary tries to follow his instructions, but the fear has completely consumed her.

"I can't." He swings his legs over the edge and stands up. The movement that looks so easy for him makes her heart speed up with fear for him. He clasps his hand over her eyes again.

"Focus on the smells," he says. She breathes deeply through her nose, taking in the scent of pine and leaf litter and fresh air and that Jace-y smell of soap and lemons and a faint hint of antiseptic. "Now focus on the sounds," he whispers. She does. She hears birds and the rush of water and the wind through the leaves and the even sound of Jace's breath by her ear. "Now focus on the sights," he says removing his hand from her eyes. "See past the drop. See the beauty in it all." And she does. She sees the levels of life. The trees and birds all around her and then the ones below her. The river that cuts through the land at the bottom of the cliff like a shimmering blue ribbon. The absurdly fluffy clouds floating lazily in a too blue sky.

"Oh," she says, taking a few steps forward. She looks right over the cliff, the drop as dizzying as before but now full of so much beauty that the vertigo becomes a second thought. Jace returns to his seat at the edge and lies back. She sits carefully next to him, still aware that a single bad move will send her plummeting to her death. "Why can you sit at the edge of a cliff but you can't roll down a hill in a plastic bubble?"

"Fear of enclosed spaces."

"I see." Jace turns his head to look at her, shielding his eyes with his hand.

"About the other day…" he sits up and turns to face her. "I think there are some things I need explain." Clary says nothing, afraid that any sound or movement on her part will break the fragile cocoon of friendship. "I have PTSD. That's why I…freaked out."

"Why are you telling me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice soft.

"I don't know. You're just so—I don't know." She wants to touch his shoulder to comfort him, something she would have done without consideration had this been Simon, but she has a feeling the contact wouldn't go over well with Jace. Clary runs through everything she knows about PTSD, which is, admittedly, not much. She decides not to push him for information. "Can I trust you?" he asks. Clary seriously considers his question.

"Yes," she says, realizing that in a short amount of time Jace has developed from a complete and total asshole to someone much more complicated. He's silent for awhile. She can see something building in his eyes.

"I don't want to fight you anymore," he says.

"And I don't want to fight you, either."

"I can't sleep on Mondays," he blurts out. "I can't think of any sort of future. I can't focus most of the times. I use women because I can't handle caring about anything or anyone anymore. I can't watch the news or I get flashbacks so violent it feels like my head will explode with the images. I can't let myself think or my mind will wander to the one place I don't want it to go. I refuse to get a psychiatrist because I refuse to think I'm crazy. And I feel guilty. I _always_ feel guilty." He's breathing heavily, his hands strongly gripping the edge of the cliff. She's terrified he's going to jump off. Absolutely terrified.

"Jace," Clary whispers. He looks at her, his golden eyes a storm of emotion. She slowly reaches for him. He doesn't move. Her finger tips brush against his shoulder. He leans into her touch, almost subconsciously. She spreads her fingers against his shoulder rubbing circles into it with her thumb.

"I'm sorry," he groans, turning away from her.

"For what?"

"For dumping my—everything on you." She moves closer to him, turning so she's facing him.

"It's alright," she says.

"It's not," he mutters. Clary takes his hand in hers.

"What happened to you?" she whispers. She sees fear flitter in his eyes. "You don't have to answer that," she says. He lets out a breath.

"We should probably head back," he says. But he doesn't move. And neither does she. Jace looks at her, his golden gaze locking on hers. A silent conversation plays between them full of things that can't be explained in words. A silent understanding drops over them.

"You can talk to me anytime," she says. He glances at her and she knows that he believes her and that maybe he will. He pulls her to him, tucking her into his side. She wraps her arms around his waist and looks at the view. He holds her tightly, burying his face in her curly red hair.

"Thank you," he mutters. They sit like that for a long time.


	5. Tragedy

_**Our Favorite **__**Mortal Instruments**__** quote of the chapter:**_

_**Hodge looked alarmed. "I-I-I had a very filling breakfast," he stammered. "I mean lunch. A filling lunch. I couldn't possibly eat–"**_

"_**I threw out the soup," Isabelle said. "And ordered Chinese food from that place downtown."**_

_**Jace unhitched himself from the desk and stretched. "Good I'm starced.**_

"_**I might be able to eat a bite." Admitted Hodge meekly. **_

–_**Hodge, Isabelle, and Jace **_

**Quick medical notes: **

**1)****PTSD is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's when something very traumatic happens (usually involving the threat of injury or death) to someone. It can be initiated by things that remind the person of the traumatic event. They can experience both physical and mental symptoms. For a fully synopsis see: ****.com/health/ref/Post-traumatic+stress+disorder**

**2)****A BVM (short for bag valve mask; also called an Ambu valve) is the bag like things people use to pump air into a patients lungs**

**I'm looking for a beta for this story. If you're interested, send me a message or leave me a comment. I need some help with the flow of my plot. Thank you all for reading!**

**oOo**

"Wait. Try one more time."

"Simon Lewis…" she says warningly.

"I'm just having a really hard time believing Clarissa Fray, normally fairly normal Clarissa Fray, went off with Jace. _Jace. _ The absolute definition of doucheyness and jackassedosity."

"I don't know what to say to that."

"Because I'm right."

"Because I have no idea what you just said." She gets off the couch, putting the videogame they're playing on pause, and grabs a soda from the fridge.

"Let me dumb it down for you. You left an awesome party to hang out with _Jace_. Jace is bad. You are good. Do you see where this is going?" Clary takes a long drink from her can and glares at him.

"I have to be at work in one hour," she says.

"What does your work schedule have to do with anything?"

"Nothing really. I just need a good excuse to get away from you."

"Jeez. The magnitude of your friendship is astounding."

"I try. I will be showering."

"Thanks for the update," Simon says, un-pausing the game. After a thirty minute shower, two minutes of picking out her clothes and another minute of putting said clothes on, Clary was ready.

"I'm heading out, Lewis," she announces at seven o'clock, snatching the keys off the counter and taking Simon's grunt as a sign of acknowledgement. She walks down the stairs, the familiar sights reminding her of Jace. _I've walked down these same stairs a million times_, she thinks, _and all I can remember about them is running into Jace?_ She wards away the unwanted thoughts with effort. As fate may have it, standing at the bottom of the stairs is Jace.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," she says. He falls into step beside her. "Were you waiting for me?" she asks.

"Potentially," he says, watching her out of the corner of his eyes.

"How would you….?" she trails off, unsure of her question.

"I have my ways," he says, answering her unspoken question.

"Interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Interesting." Jace steals a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She notices he's watching her, but chooses to ignore it. "How are you?"

"Interesting," he says with a smile. She sends him a glance. "Where are you off to?"

"Work. You too, I assume."

"Yep." They lapse into one of those uncomfortable silences between you and someone you don't know that well yet.

"Are you really a paramedic?" Clary asks him.

"I really am."

"So you weren't screwing with me?"

"I screw girls very often," he says waggling his eyebrows, "but this time I was, surprisingly, not screwing with you. If I was, I would have come up with something more interesting like, say, an astronaut."

"But I wouldn't believe astronaut."

"I'm a very convincing liar." Clary rolls her eyes. She spots her car and starts walking in a diagonal towards it.

"I'll see you later?" she asks.

"That you will. Have a nice day," he says with a ridiculously exaggerated bow.

"You too," she says, climbing into her car.

**oOo**

"Wait, wait, wait. You mean you and assy-boy-wonder?" Maia asks Clary.

"That would be Jace."

"Why?" Maia asks.

"He's not as bad as you think." Maia looks at her skeptically. Clary rolls her eyes, trying to hide her amusement, and turns back to her paperwork.

"Good evening, one and all," Dr. Bane says, striding through the emergency room doors like he owned them (which he probably did seeing as he's a reservoir of wealth that the hospital is more than welcome to delve into). He spots a group of new interns, crowded over a charts, and I see a broad, excited smile spread over his lips. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he asks striding over to him. One of the interns looks up at him, wide-eyed. Her struggle not to stare at his radioactive yellow pants and blue spiked hair was more than amusing.

"Hi…sir!" she says, eagerly. The other interns quickly follow suit. "My name—"

"No, no. I don't care what your name is. I just came over here to welcome you to the world of medicine and ask you to try your hardest not to kill someone. You see, if you were to kill someone, it would be on me. I don't want to be blamed for your stupid mistakes because you worthless buckets of crap don't know a thing about trauma, or this hospital, or medicine. Actually, screw trying not to kill someone. You can just stand in the corner and watch the real doctors work. That would probably be the best for everyone." The interns stare at him, wide-eyed and frightened, and nod quickly. They stand there staring at Dr. Bane. He puts on an angry face, something he doesn't have often. "Back to work!" he says loudly and commandingly. They hurry away. He turns to us, a smile spread across his face. "Good day. Great day. Absolutely _fabulous_ day."

"You just scarred those poor interns," Maia says, trying to be scolding but coming across as encouraging.

"Good job, doctor," Clary says. The nurses clap for him and he bows with a flourish. Clary remembers Jace doing almost the same thing and smiles. Dr. Bane picks up a chart and scans it quickly.

"Anything interesting?"

"Just standard stuff." The phone starts ringing and the closest nurse picks it up. The smile falls from her face.

"We have a 16-year-old girl in cardiac arrest coming in in about five minutes." Dr. Bane sighs.

"Let's get to work people." The trauma team hurries to get ready. They wait for the ambulance outside, the cold quickly penetrating their thin trauma gowns and scrubs. The ambulance pulls up, sirens blaring, casting a red-blue light over everything.

They wheel the gurney out of the ambulance. Lying on the bed is a girl who Clary estimates to be around 16-years-old. Straddling her is Jace, his hands on her chest as he furiously administers CPR.

"Lorrie Slifer. Age 16. Coded on the way," Jace shouts out. For a brief moment, Clary is frozen. The look on Jace's face as he works astounds her; a mix of anger, focus and something she thinks is fear, a weird look on someone who refuses to take anything seriously. She shakes her head to clear it then rushes to work with the rest of the team. She pushes the doors open as Dr. Bane, Maia, and a few other nurses push the gurney into the ER. They wheel the patient into trauma room one and immediately start hooking her up to monitors.

"How long has she been down?" Dr. Bane asks.

"Ten minutes," says Jace. Dr. Bane shoots a glance at the other paramedic.

"Why aren't you in control of the situation?" Dr. Bane asked him. The paramedic held up his hands in a show of innocence.

"He took complete control. Started shouting orders. Didn't know how to stop him so I helped."

"That's a great reason to let a medic-in-training take over," Dr. Bane says, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"I won't let another one die," Jace says fiercely, still pounding on the space over her heart. He restarts his quiet counting. A nurse slaps a BVM over the patient's mouth.

"Get off my patient," Dr. Bane says. Jace effortlessly swings off of the gurney, his hands never faltering in their rhythm. Lorrie Slifer's forced heart rhythm is showing on the monitor. A nurse wheels in the crash cart. Dr. Bane turns on the defibrillator and picks up the paddles, rubbing the gel between them.

"Charging," Dr. Bane says. Jace steps away from her, staring at the heart monitor, as Dr. Bane places the paddles over her bare skin.

"All clear," a nurse says. Her body jerks violently as the current rushes through it, the monitor beating once, then flat lining again.

"Charging to 300," a nurse says. Dr. Bane rubs more gel on the paddles then places the paddles back on her. "All clear." The girl jerks again, the monitor giving one beat, then flat lining.

"Charging to 360," the nurse says.

"Come on, come on," Jace urges.

"All clear," says the nurse. Lorrie jerks again, but it ends in another flat line. Dr. Bane sighs, a line between his brows. He gives Jace a meaningful look. Hospital policy says that after three attempts, the patient is considered dead.

"Charge again," Jace demands.

"We can't—"

"Charge again!" Jace screams. The nurse looks from the furious paramedic to the tired looking doctor.

"Charging to 400," the nurse says. A hopeful kind of pleading spreads over Jace's face, replacing some of the anger. Dr. Bane places the paddles on the girl's chest. Hope briefly fills Clary's chest. _Please, we need a miracle._ She crosses her fingers, feeling like a little kid as she stares intently at the monitor. It flat lines once again.

"No," Jace says savagely, placing his hands over her heart and continuing compressions.

"She's dead," Dr. Bane says. Jace shakes his head in response. Clary's heart squeezes, amazed at the multitude of layers he had, layers she couldn't have even imagined.

"Come on. Don't die. Please don't die," Jace mutters to the girl. Everyone in the room watches him as he works tirelessly over her dead body, forcing her tired heart to beat when all it wants to do is die. He needs to stop. He needs to understand it's over. Clary walks over and places her hand gently on his arm.

"Jace," she whispers to him. He doesn't take his eyes off of the dead girl. "Jace," she says louder. "She's dead, Jace. You did everything you could, but she died." He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of her words. Clary puts her hand on his and tries to hold it still. She slips her hands between his and eases them away from Lorrie's body.

"Time of death," Dr. Bane says, "twelve thirty-nine PM." A nurse writes the time on her chart. Jace's shoulders slump as the realization reaches him. All the doctors and nurses file out of the room, bringing Lorrie's body with them, and leaving Jace and Clary alone. He stares off, his eyes unfocused.

"Are you okay?" Clary asks him. His golden eyes meet her green ones. They don't give away even the smallest emotion.

"No," he says, his voice as empty as his eyes.

"Jace," Clary says, touching his arm again. He rips himself away from her touch.

"Don't," he said, his voice stony, "touch me." She feels her eyes widen and steps away. His muscles are trembling. He's pinching the bridge of his nose. Clary can practically see the bad memories swimming in his head.

"Jace," she whispers. "Please don't."

"Clary," he clutches his head with his hands. "Go away." He drops down, clutching his head firmly.

"Jace," Clary says, her voice pleading. "You don't have to—"

"Go away!" he screams. Clary backs away, her hands searching for the door handle and her eyes searching for any of the warmth that his eyes held just hours before. She finds the handle faster than the kindness. She slips out of the room and clocks out, wanting more than anything to leave the waves of memories threatening to overcome her.


	6. Drunken Nights

**Okay, so this weekend I did a monologue and I was writing this and part of it seemed to fit with the middle-ish part of this so:**

**"When Mouth asks why we fight, I think about having a mother and I think we fight so in the future, everybody can have a mother and both arms and then I think, well, a war is a pretty stupid way to make that happen and then I get confused and I sit down and I clean my gun. I just clean it and get it ready until my questions go away. **

**I mean, I understand, sometimes you need a gun, sometimes you have to fight people. Who could look at the world and not realize that? But I get tired of killing people who can't fight back. I don't get that part really."**

**-Jim Grimsley**

**As you've probably realized, I've changed this chapter into first person by request of my beta, Thorntangle (thanks a million by the way). I'm thinking about writing the rest of the story in first person and keeping the older chapters in third. Comments, questions and criticism is always welcome =)**

**0O0**

"CLARY!" a voice screams. I struggle against the threat of consciousness, wanting to stay buried in the blissful state of sleep. "CLARY! I NEED—I NEED T'TALK T'YOU!" The bastard at the door shouts. I curl up on myself, holding a pillow over my ears. "CLARY! CLARY!" The knocking persists. I sit up, glaring in the general direction of the door.

"Who is it?" I call hoarsely.

"CLAARRRYYY!" I try and place the vaguely familiar voice, but have trouble hearing the true voice beneath the slurring. _Who the hell…?_ I roll out of my bed, walk to the door and throws it open. Low-and-behold, there's Jace, his entire essence reeking of alcohol and a half empty bottle of tequila in his hand. "Clary!" he says happily. He swings in the doorway and grabs me by the shoulders, dropping the bottle in the process. I try to wiggle out from under his grasp, but he holds firm. "I need t'talk t'you," he says, his face turning dead serious.

"Are you—drunk?" He picks the bottle up off the floor and takes a drink.

"Mmmhmm." He walks in and looks around, putting his hands on everything he encounters, the bottle of tequila not once leaving his hand. He's like a drunken two-year-old.

"Jace, what the hell are you doing?"

"I need t'—"

"You need to talk to me. I heard you. I'm not interested in a discussion with you. Get out of my apartment," my stern tone appears to get through to him. He turns around, and takes a swig from the bottle. Because he wasn't already drunk enough.

"I'm sorry," he slurs

"Go away Jace."

"But I'm sorry."

"No, you're drunk," I mutter, wrinkling my nose against the overpowering stench of alcohol.

"No. Clary. I'm really sorry. I really am." he says. He walks through the doorway tripping over the flat ground and falling onto his knees. He braces himself against the ground taking deep steady breaths. I take a tentative step towards him and place a hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tightened under my hand, like he's clenching them. I loop a steadying hand around his waist, helping him to his feet.

"Why did you come here?" I ask, desperate to know why he'd come to me. "I don't want to help you." Jace groans softly in response. Even through the boiling anger I currently have for him, I feel the undeniable instinct that's crying for me to help him.

"Clary. I need—I need you." Those choice words stir something inside of me. Something new and warm and absolutely terrifying. I shake away my mind and let my instincts take over, lowering him onto the couch and taking the bottle from his hands. He looks at his hands in confusion. "Where's my rum?" he asks. I bite my lip to keep from laughing at his distraught expression. I pick the bottle off of the ground and dump the contents down the drain. "No!" he exclaims. "My—my rum!"

"It was tequila," I say with a sly smile. He looks up at me, his sad eyes slowly breaking my heart. I kneel in front of him.

"Jace," I whisper, cupping his face in my hands. "Are you okay?" I ask, trying to look past the drunken haze in his eyes and into the injured part of him.

"I'm gon'a be sick," he mutters. I haul him off the couch with a sigh and into the bathroom.

**0O0**

"Wakey, wakey sunshine!" Clary shouts, charging into the living room. I groan softly, throwing my arm over my eyes in a poor attempt to block out all light. "The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, hard-working Americans everywhere are going off to their crap ass jobs. It's a new day! Embrace it!" I touch his pounding head, fully expecting pieces of my skull to come off in my hands.

"Clary…what're you doing?" She pulls the blinds open, sending rays of sunlight into my eyes. I rolls over, further hiding my face.

"Come on," she says, pulling me off of the couch. My weak legs collapse under me, sending me onto the floor with a loud bang. "Coffee and aspirin on the counter," she says in a sing-song voice. I use the promise of a perfect hangover remedy to give me the strength to make it to the kitchen. I pull myself onto my hands in knees. The light instantly hits my eyes. I clap a hand over my eyes awkwardly pulling myself across the floor. I can feel Clary watching, her quiet laughter echoing through the room. I pull myself up onto a stool and swallow the aspirin, washing it down with half a cup of coffee. I put my head down on my crossed arms with a groan, impatiently waiting for the painful headache to lessen. Clary sits down across from me and picks up her own mug. I peak at her over my arms, shielding my eyes. Her expression is light and happy. I hope and pray that she's forgiven me. Somehow, I manage to pull myself into a sitting position and her smile widens. I glance down.

"What am I wearing?" I ask, glaring at the candy cane striped pajama pants and "Your mom: rated E for Everyone" T-shirt that I'm currently dressed in.

"I couldn't exactly let you wrinkle your clothes," she says innocently.

"Bull. I'll forgive you as long as you admit that you liked what you admit that you only put me in…this in order to see me naked," I say, shooting her my signature half smile. Clary rolls her eyes.

"Actually, that was Simon's job." I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"Nerd boy?" I say with a glance down at the clothes. "That explains a lot."

"You should thank me. It took a lot of persuasion to get him to do anything." I roll my eyes at her and put my head back down on the table with a groan.

"My heads going to explode," I mutter.

"That's what you get for getting drunk."

"I'm glaring at you," I mutter, my pounding head not allowing me to respond appropriately. I glance up at her, catches her staring at me. She quickly glances away, a light blush creeping over her cheeks.

"So. What happened last night?" she quickly asks, turning the spotlight on me. I look up and meet her eyes, squinting against the brightly sunlit kitchen.

"A girl died last night. So I got drunk," I mutter.

"That's a sucky coping mechanism."

"Yeah, I know."

"You going to work today?" she asks me.

"Not a chance." Clary watches as I skillfully avoid her eyes.

"Jace—"

"Clary, don't. I don't need someone else reminding me of my responsibilities. I get it. I should go to work. I should act like a man and not run away from my problems. But I'm…" Clary watches me with knowing eyes. "Broken," I finish, unable to find a better adjective. She's quiet for a moment.

"You're funny when you're drunk," she says suddenly. I pull my eyes to hers and give her a small smile.

"I hope I wasn't too bad."

"Well, when you first got here you apologized, I want a sober apology too, by the way, and I took away your tequila and you were whining, which was pretty funny. Don't whine. It doesn't suit you. Then you threw up for a couple hours. It was a fun night." One comment sticks in my head. _I want a sober apology too, by the way_. I meet her blazing green eyes and feel my heart drop. She helped me even after I was a complete ass to her.

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "For showing up at your apartment, for ruining your night, for yelling at you…" I take a long drink from my coffee, keeping my eyes closed and wishing it was something much stronger. "I should go," I say, draining the rest of the cup and standing.

"Wait, Jace," Clary says quickly. I stops and turn to look at her, trying to hide the surprise from my face. She stares at her fingers, knitted together and lying on the counter.

"Yes?" I aks after an awkwardly long pause.

"I…ummm…where are you going?" she asks. My eyebrows raise, followed by a small smirk.

"I don't know. I think I'll just walk and see where I end up." Clary glances at the clock on the wall. She glances up at me, then back at her hands. I shift uncomfortably, unsure of what she wants. I want her to meet my eyes so I can see what she wants. "You could come with me if you want," I say. Where did that come from? She looks up at me.

"It's okay. You can go…" she mutters, her eyes still locked on her hands. I walk over to her and sit on the stool across from her, wrapping my fingers around hers, gently prying them apart.

"Look at me, Clary," I say softly, trying to be the sweet guy I know she thinks I am. I stare at her tiny pale hands, resting in my large, tanned, calloused one. I flip over her hands so our palms are resting against each other, and rub circles into her palms. "Clary, look at me." She peers up at me from under her lashes. I pull one of my hands out from under hers and tilt her head up with the tips of my fingers, needing to see what she's thinking in her bright green eyes. She looks up at me. "I want you to go with me." Her captivating eyes pull me in, holding me in place. I slide my hand from her chin to the back of her neck, touching the soft skin there.

"Okay," she whispers, pulling her hands away from mine and pushing away from me. I beat down my hurt feelings and slip on my signature stony mask. I clear my throat and push away from the counter. "Umm…Jace?" she says, a small smile growing on her face. I look at her in confusion. "You might want to change." I glance down, a scowl quickly crossing my face. "Your clothes are on the chair and the bathrooms down the hall." I make my way into the living room and pick up my shirt. I take a quick sniff and wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"I think I'll run up to my apartment," I say, pulling the rancid shirt away from my face. Clary laughs. "Meet you in the lobby?" I ask.

"Sounds good," she answers. I grab my clothes and walks out the door.

**oOo**

I slide my key into the lock and push open the door to my apartment, immediately collapsing onto the couch and putting my head into my hands.

"Jace? Is that you?" I look up to see Alec loping into the room.

"Yeah. It's me."

"Where were you all night? We tried calling you."

"Out," I quickly answer. "I'm sorry for worrying you," I mutter sarcastically, pulling myself off of the couch and into my room.

"Ummm…Jace?" Alec says. I slowly turn around, already unnecessarily irritated by my best friend. "What are you wearing?" A large, amused grin spreads across his face.

"Shut up," I mutter with a small smile, my irritation quickly disappearing.

"Let me take a picture of this," Alec says, pulling off the phone.

"No way in Hell."

"Come on, Jace. I'll owe you forever." He snaps a picture before I can protest more. "Oh, that's Facebook worthy," he whispers evilly.

"I'm going to change." I mutter tiredly, disappearing into my room. I opt for a quick shower to wipe off the remaining smell of alcohol and vomit from my skin and to, hopefully, dull my remaining hangover. I stand under the hot water, letting it wash the stress away from my body. I keep seeing Clary. Laughing. Smiling. Insulting me. I quickly wash my hair and body then turn off the water. I pull on a worn t-shirt, quickly covering the scars that mar my stomach. I quickly push away the images that accompany the quick glance, pulling on a pair of jeans. I leave the bathroom, snatching my keys off the kitchen counter, saying a quick goodbye to Alec and make my way downstairs. Clary's waiting for me in the lobby.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey."

"I have to be at work in…half an hour. Maybe some other time?" I look at her steadily, meeting her bright green eyes.

"Blow it off," I say without thinking.

"What?"

"Don't go to work. Come with me." _What am I doing?_ I ask myself.

"I—I can't just…skip work."

"Of course you can."

"I—"

"Come on, Clary."

"Well…" I can feel my eyes begging her. "Fine. I'll go."

"Come on then. I know exactly where we're going to go," I say.

"What happened to ending up where you end up?"

"I like this idea instead." I grab Clary's hand and lead her out of our building and into the streets of New York.


	7. Home

"Is this your MO?" I ask as Jace drags me toward the door. "Bringing girls to your car, then driving them out to some obscure location where you then conduct a therapy session. It's strange, most people would include something more hard core like, I don't know, murder or rape. But you're content with your therapy sessions, and I guess that's cool too. I don't—"

"Clary," Jace says, cutting me off. "You're rambling."

"Sorry," I mutter. Jace pushes open the door and curses. I notice he's not wearing a jacket.

"_Shit_ it's cold!" he says. Goosebumps break out across his skin. He picks up his pace and pulls me along, my short legs having difficulty keeping up with him.

"Jace," I say laughing. He turns to me, not breaking his stride.

"Race you," he says.

"You just want to get to the car."

"Yes I do," he breaks off in a run and I know there's no way I'll catch up. I walk leisurely towards the car and laugh as he throws open the door and jumps in. He backs out of the space and honks at me, the sound echoing through the garage. He pushes open the passenger door for me. "Can you pass me that jacket?" he asks, motioning to a dark leather one in the backseat. I grab it, briefly enjoying the soft feel of the leather beneath my fingers. I pass it to him and he quickly pulls it on, turns on the car, and hands me his cell phone.

"What's this for?" I ask. His heavy breathing echoes through the car.

"So you can call the hospital and say you're deathly ill and cannot come in and spread your disgusting germs all over the poor ER patients." I shoot him a look and dial the hospital number.

"Hello, Starke Memorial Hospital, how may I help you?" says a familiar voice. Jace pulls out of the garage.

"Ummm…hi. It's—it's Clarissa Fray. I'm calling because I'm going to be sick today—I mean I am sick and I'm not—" Jace sighs and takes the phone from my hands.

"Hi. Clary's not coming in today. She's terribly ill and can barely stand…of course…I'll let her know…thank you." He hangs up the phone and contorts his body, in order to wiggle it into his back pocket. I sit, impatiently jiggling my knee, as I wait for him to tell me whether or not they bought the excuse.

"Well, what did they say?" I ask after what feels like a ridiculously long wait.

"That they know you're not actually sick and want you to report to work immediately."

"But I don't have my scrubs! We have to go back! I can't—"

"Clary," Jace says, interrupting me. "They said it's fine. You have more than enough sick days to cover one missed shift." I turn my head and glare at him.

"Not. Funny," I say.

"I actually thought it was hilarious."

"Not. Funny. At. All."

"We'll call it payback for the nerd clothes," Jace says. I smile at the memory.

"Simon's going to want those back by the way."

"I think I may keep them for memories sake." I roll my eyes and glance out the window, curious as to where we're going.

"Are we leaving the city?" I ask him.

"Yep."

"Where are we going?"

"Someplace you'll like," he says, a smile on his face.

"What makes you think I'll like it?" I ask him.

"Because I know you."

"Hmmm…"

"Hmmm?"

"Hmm," I reiterate with confidence. He puts in a CD, the music covering the sound of tires on pavement. "What's this?"

"A mix CD." I close my eyes and settle into the melody of the first song, sucking in the haunting lyrics. We listen to the whole track, the New York City skyline giving way to a more rural setting. He pulls down a dirt road and I catch sight of the ocean.

"Where are we?"

"Home," he says. He turns a corner and all I can see is a huge house. Gigantic. He parks the car and I jump out. I crane my neck up, staring at the beautiful architecture and sheer size.

"You live here?" I ask.

"Obviously not," he says climbing out of the car. He leads me to the front door, unlocking it with a key on his chain, than pushes it open.

The house that looked beautiful and intimidating outside is dark and sad inside. It's clear that no one has lived in the house for years, dust coats every surface. I suck in a breath and find Jace's hand, wrapping my fingers around it. He leads me to the kitchen. One wall of the kitchen is all glass, with a beautiful view of the beach and ocean.

"Oh. My. God. Why do you live in some crappy apartment and not here?" I ask him, turning to face him. He smiles at me.

"Would you want to live all alone in a huge house far away from civilization?"

"No," I say, instantly understanding his point. "It's a gorgeous house, though."

"Want to see the rest of it?" he asks. I give him a pointed look. "Tour of the house it is." He briskly leaves the room, leaving me to scramble after him. He leads me up the grand, curving staircase.

"I've always liked staircases," I say, running my hand against the smooth, wooden railing. Jace turns to give me a funny look.

"Is that really your turn on? If I knew showing you a staircase would get you all hot and bothered I wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of wooing you these last couple days." I glare at him.

"Nice."

"What can I say? You know where a man always keeps his mind. In his—"

"Yes, yes! We get it. You're a guy. You have needs."

"Clarissa Fray. Does the word 'penis' bother you?" I flush bright red. "You're a nurse!"

"Yeah. But—"

"Clary. You're a nurse."

"Shut up, Jace," I mutter. He laughs and turns the corner, opening the first door he sees.

"This was my room," he says. I glance in at a blue room that looks like it belongs to a little boy, right down to the race car bed against the wall.

"Nice bed. Do you bring all your dates here?"

"Haha, very funny. Notice the past tense. Was my room. Was."

"Mmmhmm," I say teasingly. He closes the door and then opens the one across the hall. "This was my parent's room." I take a quick look around the large sparse room. Sunlight filters through the thin gap in the curtains. He quickly leaves this room too, leading me down the hall. "This was my nanny's room," he says pointing to the room next to his.

"A nanny?"

"Yep," he responds, hurrying down the hall.

"So you were one of those kids." He flashes me a quick glare. "This is the sitting room, my dad's office…" he stops at the last door, stares at it, then turns around, making his way back down the hall.

"What's in there?" I ask.

"Nothing." He's facing me, obviously waiting for me to follow him.

"Is that your sex cave?" I ask.

"No," he says sternly, all teasing gone from his face. I look at him.

"Jace…"

"Come on, Clary," he says, clearly irritated. His quick change in attitude surprises me, and I quickly follow him down the hall.

"Do your parents own this house?" I ask him, wanting to break the awkward silence.

"No. I do." I feel my eyes widen in amazement.

"Oh," I manage to squeak out. He hurries down the hallway, leads me down the stairs and through the huge entryway and into the kitchen.

"I inherited it."

"From your parents?" The emotionless expression on his face scares me.

"Yes." My heart drops into my gut. His parents are dead? I clutch my stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous.

"I'm sorry," I say softly.

"No need. They've been dead for twelve years."

"They died when you were ten?" I exclaim. I slap my hand over my mouth. Way to be insensitive, Clary, I think.

"Yeah," he says, sitting on a stool and putting his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. A thought hits me. "Did they die in that room at the end of the hall?" Oh. My. God. What am I doing? He grips the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that."

He stands, throwing open the back door and walking down onto the beach. I watch from the door as he walks to the edge of the water and stares over the pristine ocean. I want to follow him, but I don't, guessing he wants to be alone. He turns around and spots me.

"Go home, Clary!" he says, his voice sounding exactly the same as when I first met him. Arrogant. Distanced. Uncaring. "My keys are on the counter. I'll get Alec to pick me up." I stare at him as he turns away, instantly assuming that I'd follow his directions. Anger builds inside of me and I storm onto the beach, no longer thinking.

"You can't do that!"I yell at him.

"What?" he asks, his voice calm and collected.

"Flip that freakin' switch you have."

"Switch?" he asks, his eyebrows raised in amusement. The boy I met in the ER is back. The cliff boy, the Jace I actually like, is gone. I stand in front of him.

"You're acting like an asshole," I say, poking him in the chest. "Five minutes ago, you weren't."

"You get what you see, baby," he says gesturing to himself. "I never said I wasn't an ass." My shoulders slump and I shake my head at him, never dropping my eyes from his. He holds his smirk, his familiar uncaring expression covering his face.

"Jace," I say softly. The pounding waves cover the sound of my voice. "You're not an ass**."** He doesn't say anything and I worry that he didn't hear me.

"I am," he says.

"You're not," I say more confidently. "If you were an ass, you wouldn't have tried so hard to save that girl. You wouldn't have shown up at my place drunk and—" he turns away from me, briskly walking away. I follow behind him. "If you were an ass, you wouldn't have brought me here, for God's sake. You wouldn't show me this amazing place because you thought I would like it when coming here obviously causes you so much pain. You're not as cold and unfeeling as you think you are." He keeps walking, we quickly get farther and farther away from the house. "Jace! Jace, please. Please talk to me."

"You!" he says whirling on me. I stop short. "How can you…I mean…I had everything under control!" I can see the anger in his eyes.

"I don't believe that," I say quietly.

"Believe it."

"Becoming an ass when you don't want to deal with your problems isn't control, Jace. It's running away." He clenches his fists at his side.

"I am not a coward," he growls.

"No. That would be an insult to the cowards." I see anger fill his eyes and I'm suddenly afraid. Maybe I'm pushing too hard, much too hard. "You need to talk to someone," I say, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"And I assume you think that someone is you?" he asks, his voice radiating cool anger.

"No. I don't expect it to be me. You barely know me, but you need to talk to someone. You're angry, hurt and sad, and it's been building. I don't know what happened to you, but I can tell that, whatever it is, it's killing you."

"I'm fine," he says, but I see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"No. You're not, and you know it." His fists unclench and he drops his gaze from mine.

"You're right," he says softly. His warm golden eyes meet mine and I see resignation. "You—I mean—" Jace takes a step towards me and gently kisses me. I stand frozen. What's he doing? He tilts his head and deepens the kiss. All my thoughts start to drift away, and I lean into him. He pulls away, allowing us both to breathe and my thoughts come rushing back.

"Jace—" I say. He kisses me again. No. I push against him. The second he feels resistance his arms release me and I fall into the sand. He looks down at me, his eyes wide. I stare up at Jace, the taste and feel of his lips lingering on mine.

"What the hell was that?" he asks himself.

"I don't know," I say frantically, bordering on hysterically.

"Why would—holy shit!" He reaches his hand down to help me up and I take it, feeling a sudden wave of heat. A familiar heat. I stand facing him, staring into his golden eyes. Suddenly reality slaps me in the face.

"No," I say. "No, no, no, no, no." His startled expression turns confused. I feel a faint blush creep across my cheeks. He watches me carefully. "I have to go. Simon and I have…plans," I say.

"After all that trouble getting you out of work, you're just going to leave?" he asks, trying to return to our earlier banter. I look up and see that there's a tension in his eyes that wasn't there before. Suddenly, I feel exhausted after this roller-coaster of emotion. I close my eyes and let out a breath. When I open them, he's carefully watching me. "I call a re-do!" I shout out.

"What?"

"We're going to pretend that this whole day didn't happen. We can go back to the way things were." He looks at me skeptically. "To be effective immediately." He smiles at me.

"Deal," he says sticking his hand out. I shake it.


	8. Conversations

**Sorry this took so long! _Serious _writer's block for awhile there, but it's sorted out for now. A million and one thanks to my lovely beta, Thorntangle for her work on this chapter! **

**_Our Favorite Mortal Instruments Quote of the Chapter:_**

_** Malachi scowled. "I don't remember the Clave inviting you into the Glass City, Magnus Bane." **_  
_**"They didn't," Magnus said. "Your wards are down." **_  
_**"Really?" the Consul's voice dripped sarcasm. "I hadn't noticed." **_  
_**Magnus looked concerned. "That's terrible. Someone should have told you." He glanced at Luke. "Tell him the **__**wards are down**_."

**-Malachi and Magnus**

**Clary P.O.V**

"Hmmm. Very nice flavor. It has a light taste but also a smoky undertone—"

"Clary, 'Light' is not an appropriate adjective when describing pizza. Neither is smoky," Jace says with a smile. I roll my eyes at him.

"Not if it's…smoke…pizza…" I trail off. Jace laughs and takes another bite of the pizza we made. I had suggested that we order and he laughed in my face; apparently the closest pizza place is almost an hour away.

"Smoke pizza?" he asks, one eyebrow gracefully arched.

"Shut up, Jace," I murmur. My cell phone rings; I pull it out and hit talk.

"Hello?"

"Clary! Where are you?" Simon says.

"Umm…I'm—out."

"I see that. You need to get home. Now."

"Why? Is everything alright?" I ask. My mind runs through a million scenarios. Is Simon alright? Did something happen to the apartment?

"Everything's fine," Simon says, calming my fears. "But—"

"Hey Little Red," says my brother.

"Jonathan! What are you doing with Simon?"

"I came down to visit you, but you're not here. Honestly, Clare Bear. I go to all this trouble to see you and you repay me by forcing me to hang out with super-nerd!" I laugh. Unlike Jace, Jonathan is very fond of Simon. Simon's been my best friend since we were five, so Jonathan's seen a lot of him over the years. "Where are you?"

"Umm..out of town. I'll be there as soon as I can. See you soon!"

"Hurry up!" We hang up and I turned to Jace.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"My brother. He's at the apartment. Would you mind…?"

"No problem. Let's go now." I checked to see if he was bothered, but he didn't see too worried. He snatched his keys off the counter and shoved the last corner of the crust in his mouth. I hurried behind him, throwing my jacket on.

0O0

Jace pulls up to the front doors of the apartment and stops the car. I sit there for an awkward moment, wanting to thank him but not knowing how. He watches me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.

"Thanks for…today," I say lamely, staring down at my intertwined fingers, feeling heat climb into my cheeks. I steal a quick glance at him. He's smiling.

"When are you working?" he asks me.

"Probably tonight," I say glancing at the clock. It's seven at night. If call in I can probably pick up the 9 o' clock shift and make up for the time I lost. I'll be exhausted in the morning, but it will be worth it if it eases my conscience.

"Need a ride?" he asks. I watch him, checking for traces of sarcasm.

"Seriously?" I ask. He gives me a blank look.

"No. I'm lying." I glare at him. "What time should I pick you up?"

"I didn't say yes yet."

"But you were going to." Part of me wants to smack the cocky grin off his face. The other half wants to kiss it away. I push away the thought as quickly as it appears.

"The next shift starts at 9."

"Meet you in the lobby at 8:45?"

"Sounds good. Thanks," I say, shooting him a smile and climbing out of the car. He smiles, waves, than drives away. I climb the stairs up to my apartment, feeling happier then I have in awhile.

0O0

I knock frantically on the door. Simon pulls it open and I rush past him.

"Where's Jonathan?" I say, rushing into the living room. Jonathan leaps off the couch and throws his arms around me, picking me up and spinning me. He lets me down and I punch him in the shoulder. He rubs it and glares at me.

"What was that for?"

"Not visiting me earlier," I say with a smile. He kisses the top of my head and pulls me onto the couch. "Have you seen Luke lately?" Luke was a friend of my mom before she went missing when I was sixteen. After she disappeared, our dad buried himself in his work and Luke basically raised us.

"Last week actually. I told him I was seeing you and he said to tell you that you better visit him soon." I smile and resign myself to visiting him the first chance I get. "So where were you Red?" I feel my cheeks flush.

"What are you guys watching?" I ask picking up the remote. I hit mute and on comes an announcer's voice, describing the intricacies of the last play. Football. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"Nice try, Fray," Simon says, sitting down on my other side. He studies me for a minute and sighs. "You were with Herondale, weren't you?" My red cheeks get brighter.

"I have to call the hospital. I'm going to try to pick up another shift," I say pushing myself off the couch.

"So you _were _with Herondale," Simon says with a sigh.

"Who's Herondale?" Jonathan asks. I pick up the phone before I can hear more of their conversation. After a quick conversation which ended in me being allowed to go in tonight I walk warily back into the room. Jonathan shoots me a look.

"Nice try, Little Red. Tell me about this Herondale." I face the two of them, my arms crossed over my chest. I bite my bottom lip and tap my fingers against my arm, not wanting to have this conversation. Jonathan pats the space between him and Simon. I sit down with a sigh and bury my head in my hands.

"His name is not Herondale. It's Jace." Simon grumbles something under his breath. I shoot him a glare, knowing it's nothing nice. "He's a friend of mine." I quickly recall our kiss, the thought of which brings a bright flush to my cheeks. I wipe it from my mind and turn myself back to the conversation at hand. Jonathan looks at me skeptically. "Just. A. Friend," I say. "Now let's watch something interesting. Like Jersey Shore!" That was answered by an adamant "no".

0O0

Jace P.O.V

When I walk into the apartment I'm on some sort of high. I spend an hour watching sports. I try to focus on the plays but Clary keeps invading my thoughts. The thrill I feel at the memory of her startles me. At 8:00 Isabelle walks in and plops down beside me.

"Hey Smiley. What's up?" she asks. I look up at her, dropping the smile on my lips. Izzy grins at me and mutes the TV. She leans forward, excitement playing in her eyes. "Tell me."

"What?" I ask, feigning innocence. I stand up and walk into the kitchen.

"Did Imogen finally promote you?" I open the fridge and take out a beer.

"Nope."

"Did you find a new apartment?" I open the bottle and take a swig.

"I'm looking for a new apartment?"

"I guess not." She pauses and watches me. "Honestly, Jace. What's with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're so…_smiley_. It's weird." I flash her quick glare.

"Is it a girl?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. I drink again, not wanting to give myself away. Her eyes pop open. She looks ridiculously surprised. I laugh and sit next to her. She flashes me a meaningful glance. "It's a girl!"

"I neither confirm nor deny."

"Finally get laid?" I bite the inside of my lip, wondering how to play this. Should I tell her the truth? Why the hell not.

"Actually, no." She looks shocked.

"Who is she? I _have _to meet her."

"Why?"

"The girl who brought down the infamous Jace Herondale? You only smile when one of three things happen." She holds up three fingers. "When the Giants win," she says putting down a finger, "when you get laid, or when Alec or I get humiliated. And now there's a _girl_? You absolutely _have _to tell me who it is."

"If I tell you then that kind of takes the fun out of it." I pick up the remote only to have her snatch it out of my hands. She flicks the TV off.

"Jace…" she says warningly.

"You might already know her," I say cryptically.

"She's a paramedic?"

"Nope." Izzy wrinkles her delicately plucked eyebrows and pouts. She looks like she's about five. I laugh and down half the bottle. She rolls her eyes. Something sparks in her eyes.

"Can I get you another beer?" she asks, innocently batting her eyes. I watch her, trying to figure out her ulterior motive. Suddenly it clicks.

"Ahh. We're playing _that_ game. You want to get me drunk. Nice try. I'm working tonight." I pick up the phone and call Imogen. She scolds me for skipping earlier and grudgingly allows me to come in tonight. I throw on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt, sneakers and throw my uniform in a gym bag. When I walk back into the living room Izzy is watching me with expectant eyes.

"I'm going to the gym," I announce. She glares at me.

"You're mean. Very, very mean." I laugh. "Can you give me a hint? Hair color? Interests? Initials? _Parent's _initials?" I pretend to consider and then shake my head. "Is that where you were all day? With her?"

"Yep."

"Can you at least tell me where you went?"

"The manor," I say. Her eyes pop open and her jaw drops. I snatch my keys off the counter and hurry out before she can assault me with more questions. I throw the gym bag in the back of my car and put my keys in the front seat, exactly like everyone tells me not to. I jog to the gym which is only three convenient blocks away. The cold air burns my lungs. I focus carefully on my running, thinking only of the rhythm surrounding me; the pulsing of my feet against the ground, my even breaths, the steady beating of my heart.

The air in the gym is warm. I head straight for the punching bag, feeling the tension of the day coiled deep within my muscles. I call over a trainer and ask them to hold the bag for me. I punch it and feel the trainer budge, not expecting such a strong hit. He makes a small grunt of surprise. I bounce on the balls of me feet and attack the bag. The world disappears, leaving me, the bag and the sweat pouring over my skin.

"Okay, okay," the trainer says. I back off. "Jesus. Who pissed you off?" I blink to clear my head.

"Sorry," I mutter. I glance down at my raw knuckles, bleeding lightly.

"First aid's on the wall." I nod and quickly patch up my hands. When I'm done I see that it's 8:30. I wanted to take a shower before I headed to work but that doesn't seem possible. I quickly jog back to the apartment building, cursing myself for not watching the time more closely. Clary is waiting for me in the lobby, dressed in her mint green scrubs.

"Hey," she says, giving me a once over.

"Checking me out Red?" I say with a smirk as I approach her.

"In your dreams. Are you going to work in that?"

"I have an extra uniform in my car."

"You're not going to shower?" she asks with a smirk.

"What are you implying there, Fray?" She raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms over her chest. She looks adorable. "You don't like my sweat?"

"_Nobody _likes your sweat," she says.

"You are _so_ going to regret that." I walk over to her and she starts backing away.

"Jace…" she says warily. I put on my most evil grin and lunge towards her. She dodges and starts running. I chase her. She sprints outside, faster than I would have suspected, but she's not as fast as I am. I grab the back of her jacket and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her. "Jace! You're disgusting," Clary says, struggling against my sweaty arms. I laugh as I wipe my sweaty forehead against her neck. "_Jace!_" she squeals, straining against my arms.

"I'll let you go when you apologize." She sighs and stops struggling.

"Can we go to work now?"

"Not until you say two little words…"

"You're going to break eventually. I can wait," she says.

"Just let me warn you, Fray. I'm known for my patience." She lets out a snort of disbelief.

"Jace. You have the most pathetic attention span of anyone I know." She wriggles in my arms as if trying to fight her way out. I can't help but roll my eyes.

"There is no way you're going to fight your way out of this one." She bites my arm and I quickly release her. Her bite didn't hurt but it was surprising as hell.

"Better luck next time, Herondale." I can't help but smile.


	9. Coffee

_**Our Favorite Mortal Instruments Quote of the Chapter:**_

_**"'Investigation?' Isabelle laughed. 'Now we're detectives? Maybe we should all have code names.'  
'Good idea,' said Jace. 'I shall be Baron Hotschaft Von Hugenstein.'" **_

_**-Isabelle, Jace and **_

_**0O0**_

I haven't seen much of Jace in the last few weeks. He's come by a few times during his lunch break and we've gone out to eat. It's nice getting to know him better. He's still the cocky, annoying guy I first met, but there's something else to him. Something that wasn't there to begin with. We talk mostly about work and the traumas we've worked on; the worst case, the best case, most interesting and so on. I can feel myself growing unusually close to him.

The other day we were walking back to the hospital he was telling me a story about his co-worker's when I slipped on a patch of ice. He caught me around the waist before I had a change to fall. He pulled me closer and asked me if I was alright, his deliciously hot breath fanning across my face. I couldn't do anything but nod, my mind conjuring up thoughts of our kiss only weeks before. He quickly let me go, but the heat from his touch took a long time to fade.

My hand continues to scrawl furiously across the page as my mind wanders. I've been assigned to paperwork duty and have been at it for the past six hours. I sit up, my back protesting the movement, and rub my hand over my tired eyes. It's time for coffee and a break from my minds wanderings.

Down the hall, in the Nurse's room, is an ancient coffee maker. It produces a powerful sludge, but it contains enough caffeine to make a person intoxicated and if you add enough cream and sugar, it's almost edible. The coffee in the pot is cold. With a sigh, I pour it into my mug and add enough cream and sugar to send a person into diabetic shock. I take a big gulp of the cold beverage and force it down before the taste can get to me.

When I get back to my station I see the beautiful, black-haired girl from the other day leaning against the desk. She's dressed in a standard EMT uniform, but she makes it look as elegant as a ball gown.

"Clary Fray?" she asks as I approach.

"Can I help you?" I ask, sliding into the seat behind the desk. I pull on the lever that raises the seat so that I can see above the desk. My toes barely touch the floor. Silently, I curse my height, or rather my lack of it.

"Are you Clary Fray?"

"I am," I answer warily.

"Do you know Jace Herondale?" she asks me. I freeze in my seat and glance up at her.

"Yes," I answer wearily. She grins and turns toward me, her hand extended.

"My name is Isabelle Lightwood. I'm, for all intents and purposes, his sister."

"Oh," I say, reaching out and shaking her hand. Suddenly I recall Jace telling stories about his brother and sister, though he never really calls them by name. "It's nice to meet you."

"Are you the girl?" she asks, leaning forward.

"The…girl?" I ask.

"The one he's been spending so much time with."

"Umm…maybe?" I say.

"All the signs are pointing to you. I 'might' know you but you're not a paramedic," she says putting up a finger. "Mom says Dr. Bane has seen the two of you together. I asked Magnus himself and he went off on some rant about nurse's and their love affairs," she says, putting up a second and third finger. "Then there's the whole you-live-in-the-same-building-as-us thing," she says as I shoot her a surprised glance. "The man at the front desk is _very_ easy to get information out of," she says with a wink. "So I have one question for you; did he take you to the manor?" I feel my cheeks flush. Her blue eyes widen and she smiles broader. "It's _you_! Oh, Alec will be so thrilled!"

"Who's—"

"Our brother," she says. "And Dr. Bane's unofficial boyfriend." I feel flustered and search for something to say. "I can't _wait _to tell Jace," she says almost evilly. "Did you know he has—"

"Isabelle?" I look up and see Jace walk through the front doors, dressed in full uniform. I feel my cheeks heat up and curse my body for its response to him. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Ah, Jace," Isabelle says, sounding very self-satisfied. Jace makes his way over and leans his hip against the desk.

"I see you've met Clary," he says to her.

"Yep. I found your secret girlfriend," she says with a smile. Jace flashes me a look somewhere between a smirk and a grimace.

"And I see you've been stalking. Did you know, Izzy, that stalking is a crime."

"It's not _stalking_. It's _snooping_."

"There's a difference?" Jace asks.

"Umm…"

"Oh, right. _Stalking_ involves following someone and finding out things about them and _snooping_ involves finding out things about them then finding…wait a minute!" he says, snapping his fingers. "They're the same thing."

"Either way, you're little friend is no longer a secret," Isabelle says.

"'Little' friend? Was that a short joke?" I ask with a smile, meaning to change the subject.

"Umm…not purposely," Isabelle says.

"Ignore Clary. Her height's a sore spot for her. Especially since she recently got a handicap sign for her car because she's a legal midget."

"I am not," I say, glaring at Jace, "A legal midget." He peers over the counter and sees my feet dangling above the ground. "I'm five feet and four-tenths inches, thank-you-very-much." He smirks.

"Clary, this is Isabelle, my sister. Isabelle, Clary."

"Remind me how you got her? She doesn't look like a slut, which is usually the only kind of girl you can get. And we all _know_ she doesn't like you for your personality, soo…" Jace places his hand over his heart and puts on a hurt face.

"Your words wound me," he says.

"Shut it, Jace. You're ego needs no boost." Clary laughs loudly. "We're going to be good friends," Isabelle says. She pulls a pen out of her front pocket and grabs my hand. She scribbles on seven digits then her name. "Here's my number. We _must _hang out some time." She shoots Jace a look then walks away, waving to me as she goes.

"Well, then," Jace says.

"So what was all that about me being '_the girl'_?" I ask, mimicking Isabelle's intense tone. Jace rolls his eyes and hops over the counter. "Hey!" I scold. "Employees only."

"Poor wording, Fray. I'm an employee." I sigh and turn in my chair to face Jace. "I'm sorry about that," he says, sinking into the other chair. "Isabelle can be…abrasive," he says.

"I like her. She's like you, except nicer and a girl. Prettier too," I say with a smirk.

"Remember what you learned today about insulting me, Fray," he says warningly.

"As long as you remember that my bite is worse than my bark, Herondale," I counter.

"Cute." I turn back to my paperwork with a smile. Jace leans back and props his feet on the edge of the counter, assuming a relaxed position.

"Don't you have work?" I ask.

"Just got off." He picks my coffee mug up off the counter and takes a deep drink. He splutters and chokes it down. "That," he says, making a face at the mug, "is _not_ coffee."

"Trust me. We know." He puts the cup back on the counter and moves away from it. He grabs my bottle of water from the counter and drains the bottle.

"You can finish that," I say sarcastically. "It wasn't like I was drinking it or anything."

"When do you get off work?" he asks, ignoring my comment. He flashes me a smirk. I sigh and steal a glance at my watch.

"About an hour."

"I'll pick you up then."

"Pick me up? Isn't that a bit presumptuous?" I ask.

"You know you're going to say yes. Especially when I say there's _real _coffee involved. And breakfast."

"At four in the morning?"

"It'll be more like four thirty, but yes." I drop my pen and scan his face. He's relaxed; the normal worry lines between his eyebrows have been erased from his face. His soft looking mouth is pulled up in a smirk and his golden eyes are bright.

"Alright. I'll go."

"See you at four," he says, pushing himself to his feet and swinging back over the counter. I shake my head and turn back to my paperwork.

**0O0**

My head whips up at the sound of the ER doors opening. It's Jace, walking in with a large box in his hands. He moves straight towards me, his gold eyes sparkling. He drops the box on the floor.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Come here and find out," he says with a wide grin. He's changed out of his uniform and into a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a black t-shirt. I tear my eyes away from him and make my way around the counter. With a wary glance at Jace, I kneel down beside the box. It holds a new coffee maker. I turn towards him, my eyes wide with surprise.

"The sludge they were giving you guys was completely unacceptable," he says nonchalantly, his hands in his pocket. I fling my arms around him. He staggers back a step in surprise, then, after a pause, returns my embrace. The warmth from his arms seeps into my back. It feels amazing, perfect, absolutely right. I pull back before my mind loses control of my body.

"Thank you," I say, meeting his eyes. He grips the back of his neck and smirks.

"All in a day's work," he says. "Let's get this set up, then I'm taking you out for breakfast." He lifts the box, the muscles in his arms straining against the weight. I lead him to the nurse's station and help him take the new machine out of the box and plug it in. Jace picks up the old coffee maker and balances it in his hand.

"I feel like we should do something ceremonious with this," he says.

"It has served us for a long time," I say.

"Want to throw it off the roof?" he asks, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

"And what happens when we hit someone in the head with it?"

"It won't take us to long to get to the hospital," he responds. I laugh and bump my hip against his, or more accurately, his thigh. He picks up the machine and throws it in the garbage.

"Come on, Red. Time to hit the road."


	10. Realizations

**The song is "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol, for those of you who don't know it and want to listen to it. **

_**Our Favorite Mortal Instruments Quote of the Chapter:**_

"_**The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed."**_

_**-Jace Lightwood**_

_**0O0**_

**Jace's P.O.V**

I pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. Clary tells me about her day full of paperwork and I tell her about the "heart attack" I attended to which ended up being heartburn. The old man thought he was dying because he ate three double cheeseburgers for breakfast. Some people need to be punched in the face. Clary laughs at the appropriate moments. The light, happy sound relaxes me like nothing else does.

"Where are we going?" Clary asks me as we reach the boundaries of the city. Asphalt rushes beneath the tires as we speed down the nearly deserted highway.

"A secret location."

She sighs loudly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her lean back in her seat and prop her feet against the dashboard. "More of your secret locations," she mutters sarcastically. "Beautiful." I turn on the radio with a barely suppressed grin. None of my saved channels are worth listening to for more than few seconds. Clary turns up the volume as the familiar tune of "Chasing Cars" fills the air around us. I sing along softly, my voice barely heard over the sound of the radio. She flips of the sound and turns her head to look at me.

"You have a nice voice," she says. I shoot her a speculative glance. "Really. You do." She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on the tops of them. I take the first exit off of the highway onto the familiar stretch of the road.

"If you're taking me to the middle of nowhere in order to murder me, be warned. I've acquired mad ass-kicking skills." I shoot her a speculative look. "Eyes on the road!" she says.

"Eyes where?" I ask, keeping my gaze trained on her.

"Jace…" she says warningly.

"You know, Red," I say, placing one hand on her shoulder while using the other to gesticulate. "You should really put more faith in my driving."

"Please return your eyes to the road before you kill us," she says, her voice higher than usual. With a small laugh, I put my hands back on the wheel and turn off onto a less populated road.

"The 'kill me in the middle of nowhere' theory is becoming more and more probable," she says. I turn into a parking lot and park in front of an almost empty diner.

"Welcome to Joan's," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt and getting out of the car. The cracked asphalt crunches beneath my feet. The building is old, the most ugly shade of orange in existence and falling apart; but it's home. Clary follows me, nearly tripping on the broken concrete. I make my way to the front door, the familiar, silver varnish of the handle worn away to show the brass underneath. The front window of the diner holds a flashing "24-hour" sign.

"What are you waiting for?" I say. She rolls her eyes and walks over. A bell rings as I open the front door and a wave of apple-pie-smell hits me right in the face.

"Well if it isn't Jonathan Herondale," says a familiar voice from behind the counter. Joan stands up from her humped position over the counter and puts her hands on her hips. "I haven't seen you in awhile." She flashes me a huge smile.

"Ah, Joan, my old friend," I say, putting on what she calls my "cocky ass voice" as I walk over to her. She whacks me in the arm with her washcloth and turns her eyes to Clary.

"Who's your lady friend?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows. Clary steps forward and offers her hand.

"Clary Fray. Nice to meet you," she says.

"You too, dear," she says, ignoring Clary's hand and pulling her into a Joan-sized hug. "I'm Joan and I own this shack," she says as she pulls away from Clary. "You're tables open tonight," Joan tells me with a smile.

"Is it ever not?"

"That's only because you always show up at ridiculous hours of the night."

"If a man can't sleep—"

"'_Man'_," she scoffs. "Hon, you only _wish _you were a man." I place my hand over my heart, assuming a hurt expression.

"Don't you dare try that with me, little Herondale," Joan says, using her old nickname for me from when I still came here with my dad. "Are you going to play tonight?" she asks me, her gaze moving to the old piano with the wicker basket resting on it. My first job was at this restaurant, playing for the meager tips I could scavenge.

"No," I answer.

"You haven't played since you came back." I flinch at her words. "You have to get over your ghosts, honey." Clary follows my gaze to the piano then flashes me a glance.

"You play?" she asks.

"Not very well," I say. Joan snorts under her breath.

"He plays stupendously," she corrects.

"Play me something," Clary says, pulling me over to the bench. Joan chuckles from behind us.

"I like this girl," she says with a grin. Clary pushes me down onto the seat and pulls up the cover. I keep my hands resting safely on my knees.

"Do it for an old woman," Joan says. "Your playing has been one of my few pleasures in life," she says with an overdramatic air. I flash her a speculative glance. She smiles in response. With a sigh I rest my fingers on the ivory keys, keeping my fingers gently curved like I was taught so long ago. Tentatively, I press down softly on the keys. A clear chord rings in the air. Slowly a song starts to take place; "Chasing Cars," the song from the car. My shoulders relax as I let my fingers fly over the keys. I 'm stiff after months of not playing and some of the notes come out wrong, but I must admit it feels good to play again. Clary touches my shoulder with the tips of her finger tips.

And suddenly, I'm not in New York.

_I'm in Afghanistan._

_Outside the window the land is barren. The building around us is old and falling apart. The only items in the room are a piano and a couple chairs and tables. I run my finger over the wooden edge of the instrument, wiping the dust off. I stand in front of it and press gently on the keys._

"_You play, Lieutenant?" James Bragford asks me. I play a short tune I learned when I was younger and meet his eyes with a grin. _

"_I play."_

"_That all you can play? Chopsticks?" I laugh and pull up a chair. My fingers rest on the home keys. I flash Bragford a small smile. My fingers begin to fly across the keys and the other soldiers gather around. The notes radiate around me, along with the sounds of the raucous laughter of the soldiers. I feel myself smile. Three weeks until I get to go home and seek Isabelle and Alec and Max and everyone else I've missed for the past year and a half. The tune picks up into the more upbeat melody of "Don't Stop Believin'". The soldiers, drunk with happiness at the thought of returning home in a few short weeks, sing along with the tinny, awful notes of the piano. _

"_Is that all you got?" a soldier asks me. I laugh and unleash my fingers upon the ancient keyboard. They fly across the keys, moving faster and cleaner than they have in a long time. It feels good to use my hands for something other than death and destruction. Then, in seconds, the peaceful world we've created for ourselves collapses._

"_Weapons down! Weapons down!" a man in a turban holding a US issued M16 shouts at us. His accent muffles his poor English, but we get the message. We remove the guns and knives we have strapped onto us and place them at the floor at our feet. I keep one knife on me, hidden in my boot. He levels the gun at my head as more soldiers stream in behind him. I snarl at him and the grin falls from his face. "Hands up! Weapons down!" he yells. We comply. "This is your leader?" he asks, walking towards me and grabbing me by the collar of my shirt._

_The soldiers stay silent, loyal until death. They know that the higher up in rank you are, the worse they treat you. "Answer me! Answer!" The soldiers remain silent. He lifts the massive gun and awkwardly points the barrel at my temple._

"_No!" Bragford says before he can fire. "I'm the leader." I turn my flashing eyes to his._

"_He's lying," I snarl. "If you don't believe me look at my jacket. My collar," I say, refusing to let one of my soldiers go down for me. _

"_I know nothing of your silly American system," he says then pushes me roughly forward and nudges my shoulder with the tip of his gun…_

_That was Monday._

_That was last week._

_Last month._

_Last year._

The diner swirls into focus. I blink and jerk away from Clary. My fisted knuckles are white.

"Jace?" Clary asks. She sounds afraid and is keeping a careful distance from me. Joan stands slightly behind her with a comforting hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," I choke out. "Fine." My legs wobble shakily beneath me as I stand. "Can you get me some coffee?" I ask Joan. She flashes me a worried glance then takes a step forward. I move away from her outstretched hand and walk towards my usual table.

Clary follows me to a table with a large picture window overlooking the distant city, making sure not to come too close to me. I feel like a mentally unstable monster. The view out the window looks like a scene straight from a postcard. She slides into the seat across from me. The view captivates my attention and hers too.

"Jace, what happ-"

"Nothing. Nothing happened."

"You can talk to me—"

"I can't." She looks down at the table, staring at it like the weathered plastic is the most interesting thing she's ever seen.

"Are you sure you're alr—"

"Drop it," I say, more sternly then I mean to. She appraises me with her eyes.

"How long have you been going here?" she asks me, realizing that I mean what I say and choosing to change the subject. I feel thankful for that.

"Since I was seven." I trace my fingers around the edge of the menu holder. I think of what lies under it and consider showing it to her. My entire life, a dozen lives, hidden under an ancient menu holder.

I lift it and reveal a pad of paper. Clary shoots me a questioning glance. "It's a secret among regulars. Someone started it a few years back. It's covered with things we've seen or heard or been through. Pretty amusing actually," I say, offering her the pad of paper. "We've already gone through a few of these."

She starts to flip through the pages, laughing at some pages, giving me a sad look on others. Joan shows up with two cups of coffee. Clary continues to read through the notes as I talk with Joan, still worried about me after my…episode, but my heart's not in the conversation. I take a sip of the coffee and watch her over the rim. Every once in awhile she shows me something she finds particularly funny and will ask me if I know who wrote it. Some of them I know from times when we happened to be at the diner at the same time. Others I have no idea about. She reaches one entry then looks at me with wide, sad eyes.

"Who wrote this?" she asks, sliding the pad of paper across the table to me.

_Remember that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed._

The familiar handwriting takes me back two weeks when I was last here.

"I did." She stares at me, her eyes wide. Her small hands clutch the edge of her table so tightly that I can see the white of her knuckles.

"Why—why would…" she trails off, unable to think of something suitable to say.

"My father always told me that," I say after a lengthy pause. Her green eyes widen.

"That's_ horrible_," she says.

"Not really. It's good advice."

"_Jace_—"

"Clary." She reaches over to close the small book. I grab her hand before she can pull it away.

"But that's completely—" she says, but my fingers tighten around hers, quickly shutting her up. I release her hand and drop her gaze, turning to look out the window, but the picturesque scene can't hold my attention for long. I turn my gaze to Clary. The moonlight glows across her features, making her milky skin glow and washing out her brilliant hair. She looks so innocent and so sad and so strong and so so beautiful.

I reach across the short table and touch her cheek, turning her face to look at me. My fingers trace her jaw line, then slowly, softly, move to her lips. Her green eyes flutter shut as I run my thumb along her bottom lip. Her warm breath brushes across my skin. She puts her hand on top of mine, holding it against her cheek then gently pulls it from her face.

"Remember our re-do," she says softly. I let the mask of indifference I wear so well settle over my face, then lean away from her without saying a word. She touches her lips absentmindedly looking hurt and confused. I turn away from her and look out the window. My heart pounds furiously in my chest, a pain radiating from it that I faintly recognize.

_To love is to destroy_.

Suddenly, I know. Sometime in the last few weeks I, Jace Herondale, the heartless, Casanova extraordinaire, have fallen for Clary Fray. _To love is to destroy. _My father's mantra rings in my head, reminding me of my history and just how wrong I am for her; how damaged, how arrogant, how heartless. I keep my face blank and take a sip of my coffee. She reaches out and touches my hand with the tips of her fingers. I jerk away from her touch. Her scalding eyes meet mine and I see an apology in the verdant depths. I also see pity.

"I'll be in the car," I say. I stop at the front desk to pay, then walk into the frigid air and slide into the driver's seat. The car is still slightly warm from the ride down. I roll down the window, welcoming the cold to my pity party. I lean my elbows against the wheel, resting my head in my upturned palms.

Time passes slowly allowing me to relish in my mistakes. Every moment that led up to this one weighs heavily on my heart.

The butterfly effect. A butterfly flaps its wings and halfway across the world there's a hurricane. If I hadn't invited her here today. If I had let her believe I was an ass instead of feeling like I had something to prove to her. If I hadn't shown up in the ER that first night I met her. If I had never punched my fist through the damn window. If, if, _if_. I wouldn't be here, wanting a girl I don't deserve.

I pound my fists against the steering wheel, letting out a small scream of frustration. I throw open my door and start to pace, feeling restless and confused. The world shrinks down to me, a small stretch of pavement and the sound of my feet slapping against the ground.

A hand on my shoulder pulls me out of my mind.

Clary.

I stare at her for a minute, my walls lying in rubble around my feet. I hurry to build them up, once again hiding myself from her.

"Jace," she says softly.

"Let's go home," I say. But she won't let me go. She grabs my arm, her fingers gentle but her grip firm.

"No. You don't get to run away from me like that." My fingers tremble as irrational anger builds up in me. I grip her wrist and jerk it off of my arm. She stumbles away, her wide eyes gazing into me as she rubs her wrist. My hands drop to my side as I realize what I just did. I reach slowly for her arm, wanting to see the damage I've done but she steps away from me. I inwardly flinch as she clutches her arm to her chest.

"Clary," I say softly, trying to keep the bubbling emotion out of my voice. "I'm sorry."

"Let's go home," she says softly. She opens the door and slides into the passenger's seat. I don't move, watching her as she sits patiently, waiting for me to realize that she's not going to come back out. After a few minutes in the cold, I resign and sit in the driver's seat. I turn on the car and quietly pull out of the parking lot. The car is silent; no music, no conversation. Just the quiet, rhythmic sound of our breathing.

The city starts to appear around us. Skyscrapers and apartment buildings appear, shooting into the starless sky. Clary avoids eye contact with me, keeping her hands unmoving in her lap and her eyes trained out the side window. I pull in front of our building and turn the car off. She pulls open the door, not saying goodbye, not waving, not flipping me off. Nothing. She just leaves. And I'm left in the car trying not to think about her and thinking of nothing else.

**Sorry for the wait! I've been incredibly busy. Hope this long-ish chapter makes up for some of it! Thanks, like always, for reading!**


	11. Broken

_**Our Favorite **__**Mortal Instruments**__** Quote of the Chapter:**_

_**"My father believed in a righteous God. **_**Deus volt**_**, that was his motto—'because God wills it'. That was the Crusaders motto, and they went out to battle and were slaughtered, just like my father. And when I saw him lying dead in a pool of his own blood, I knew then that I hadn't stopped believing in God. I'd just stopped believing that God cared. There might be a God, Clary, and there might not, but I don't think it matters. Either way, we're on our own."**_

_**-Jace**_

**Jace's P.O.V**

I sit in the car for hours watching the darkness turn darker and darker and then finally lighter as the sun starts to tint the sky. The cold of the car bites into my bones and, mercifully, makes me numb. I don't allow myself to think or feel. I would have happily sat here for hours, staring blankly out the widow and not thinking, but sadly reality lies right outside the world I've created for myself and it's waiting for me to return. My cell rings, shaking me out of my stupor.

"Hello." The only sound is soft static. "Hello?"

"Hello. We're calling to inform you that your credit score—" I quickly disconnect then step out of the car and into the open air, shivering as the wind picks up and nearly pushes me over. I don't realize how cold I am until I glance at my quivering, blue tinted fingers. I hurry into the building which remains unlocked at all hours of the day.

Although almost every light in the building is off, it's still very much awake. I always forget how alive this place is, how the walls breathe around us, living just as much as its residents. The sounds of the first floor flood around me. Loud snoring, soft guitar music and the smell of popcorn floods the hallways. The people sounds mingle with the sounds of the hundred year old building. The ever constant sound of the groaning elevator that runs all through the night, the air conditioner in the lobby that never gets turned off, even in the winter, and the smell of dust and years of wear. I love this place, from the urine stain in the corner to the sleeping redhead with bright green eyes sleeping two floors above me.

I walk up the stairs like I always do. I've spent too much time in a cell to be comfortable in a tiny moving box. I ease the front door to the apartment, noting, like always, the dent in the wall created by my fist. _I still have to fix that_.

Isabelle is sleeping on the couch, the TV still on and an empty bowl of popcorn on her lap. I switch of the television, which is running re-runs of Gilmore Girls, and put the empty bowl in the kitchen. I carefully lift her into my arms and carry her into her room. Her eyes flutter open briefly then shut again.

"What'cha doin'" she asks me, her voice hazy with sleep.

"Go back to sleep, Izzy."

"Mm'kay." She rests her head against my shoulder with a contented sigh. I set her carefully in her bed and put the comforter over her shoulders. She's already asleep by the time I leave her room.

I don't bother changing or showering. I just fall into bed, ready to end this endless day.

Sleep eludes me. I lie on my back, above the covers on my bed, staring at the swirling patterns the spackle makes on the ceiling. The red light of my alarm clock casts long shadows across the room, making the simplest of objects look frightening. Not that I'm afraid of the dark. There are a million things more frightening than the dark. Maybe even a million and one.

My heart thumps in my chest as my frantic mind runs over everything that went wrong tonight. Things should have gone differently. I curse the dark alleys of my mind for dragging me into them. The memories beat me then leave me slumped against the walls, confused, pained and unable to think my way out of the maze.

Light filters through my open window. I glance outside, only able to see a sliver of blue, unmarked by clouds, which promises another beautiful day. I turn my head away, not wanting to see how the world seems to keep going without me. The sun rises higher into the sky. The hours turn to six, then seven. I hear Izzy and Alec wake up and make breakfast. The TV turns on, blaring the morning news. I beg my body to allow me to sleep for just an hour.

When that doesn't work I pray to God, something I haven't done since I was ten years old. He doesn't listen either.

My mind flashes to the bottle of sleeping pills I finished last week. They were prescribed to help me sleep after I came back. I don't think I've ever wanted something more.

Five hours pass. Thoughts of Clary are never far off. _Why am I so worked up over her? She's just a girl. _That becomes my motto. I chant it in my head over and over again.

_She's just a girl_.

_Just a girl_.

_A girl._

My_ girl_

_The _only_ girl…_

At around one, Alec and Izzy start talking just loud enough so that I can hear snippets of their conversation.

"…_still in bed?"_

"…_came home late."_

"…_he alright?"_

"…_worried about him."_

The door to the apartment opens and shuts. I let out a breath, thinking I'm alone. A soft knock on my door tells me I'm wrong. I ignore it in hopes that whoever it is will go away. The door opens a sliver and Isabelle slips into the room.

"Jace?" she whispers. She tip-toes farther into the room. I glance at her concerned face. She balances a cup of steaming coffee in her hands as she sits softly at the foot of my bed. I flick my eyes up to the ceiling and studiously ignore her. "Is everything okay?"

"Go away, Isabelle," I say. My voice sounds weak and broken. I grimace at the sound of it. She stands and places the cup of coffee by my bed.

"You can talk to me, Jace."

"Go. Away. Isabelle," I say, my voice stronger and more scathing this time.

"No." She crosses her arms, looking down on me.

"Fine," I mutter, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and making my way to the closet.

"What are you doing?"

"Showering." I pull out a dark t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans then head towards the bathroom. Izzy follows me, her disapproving glare never moving from me. I shut the door to the bathroom and lock it.

"Jonathan Christopher Herondale!" she screams, pounding on the door. "You don't get to do this again!" I lean against the door and slowly exhale. It's quiet for a moment. "Please, Jace. Talk to me." Her voice is so soft and sad it breaks my heart.

"Not now, Izzy." I push myself to my feet and open the medicine cabinet, looking for anything strong enough to let me sleep.

"Jace! What are you doing!" Izzy sounds panicked. "Jace! Jace talk to me!" I don't say anything. "I can't do this again, Jace!" She sounds frightened and I curse myself for making her feel like that. Somewhere deep inside of me, I feel the tiny pieces of myself I've managed to piece together fall apart again. "I can't live with the PTSD you again." I fight the effect her words are having on me. "Please! We just got you back!"

"Later, Izzy. Talk to me later." My breathing speeds up and my hands start to shake.

"Please don't do this, Jace. I can't stand to lose you again!" She starts sobbing and begging me to let her in. And I can't. I know what happens when you let someone in and then lose them. My father. James Bragford. Now Clary.

Something inside of me snaps. Something fragile and very important. Something that's been breaking for a very long time.

I let out a sound stuck somewhere between a scream and a sob. My legs collapse from underneath me and my breathing speeds up. Images of red flash through my mind. Bright red blood and bright red hair. So much blood covering everything and coloring it that horrible color. Isabelle's pounding is like gunfire to me, pulling me into a battlefield hundreds of miles away. And there's Clary, dying a million times over. A gun to her head. A grenade resting in her open palm. A blossom of red blooming right over her heart. In every image she's screaming for me to help her and I can't move a muscle.

I curl up, praying for this to be over, praying to be dead. Anything. Anything at all that will take me away from this world. My stomach rolls and I dry heave. My muscles shake and convulse as I struggle to escape the world my mind's created for me but I'm sucked in deeper than I've ever been before.

Even through all of the pain one sentence sticks in my head, making me hurt more then I would have ever guessed possible.

_I've lost her…_

_Lost her…_

_Lost…_

**Clary P.O.V**

At around one o'clock I hear a pounding at the door. I'm sitting on the couch with Simon and a carton of Ben & Jerry's, divulging to him everything that happened the night before. Simon begrudgingly pulls himself off the couch and opens the door.

"Where's Clary?" says a frantic voice. A tall, slender girl with blue eyes and black hair pushes past Simon into the apartment. Isabelle. Her worried eyes, full of unshed tears, fall on me and she looks instantly relieved. "I need your help," she says, grabbing onto my arm and pulling me forward. I yank it out of her grasp.

"What are you doing?" I ask, raising my voice. Tears pour down her face.

"Please. Jace needs you."

"Well, he's on his own now. He decided it early this morning when he grabbed me." She looks at me like she's been slapped.

"_Grabbed_ you? It's _Jace_. It didn't mean anythign." My jaw clenches at her words. I remember my childhood on the nights when my dad came home drunk. I remember a thousand fists and a thousand undeserved punishments. Broken bones and broken hearts. Nights spent with my brother in the closet, both of us praying he won't find us. I remember my mother disappearing and I remember thinking she's abandoned me and my brother. I remember feeling alone and unloved. I remember being too afraid to say anything to anybody. Even now.

"It meant something to me," I whisper. Simon's hand lands gently on my arm. I know he's guessed that my dad's abusive, but I've never admitted it to even him. I couldn't bear the thought of ripping our family farther apart. The tears come down faster on Isabelle's face.

"I am _begging_ you, Clary. I am _begging_ you to help my brother right now." I bite the inside of my lip, feeling fragile and broken hearted, but knowing what I have to do. I nod once.

She pulls me through the halls, up a flight of stairs and through a door. She stops in front of a door and her hand tightens around my arm. "He's in here," she whispers. The lock to the door's been broken. From behind the door, I smell vomit and hear a soft whimpering. I brace myself for what I'm about to see and push gently on the door. It swings open.

My heart drops.

**Jace's P.O.V**

A soft hand lands on my shoulder and I flinch away from it, gripping at my face, trying desperately to rip the visions and memories from my head. Small hands tighten around my wrists pulling them away from my face. Lips press against my ear and whisper into it.

"Jace. It's alright. It's all in your head." I struggle against the hands restraining me. The voices speaks again, but distantly this time. It's talking to someone, telling them about water.

_The hot desert sands blow across my face. I take a swig out of my canteen and pass it to the soldier on my left…_

"Snap out of it, Jace!"

_I'm sitting in a room, my hands and feet chained together. The man in the turban looks into my eyes. "I can kill your family. I can destroy your country. I can ruin your entire life. And all it takes is this." He snaps his fingers._

Somewhere a door slams shut. Something cold runs over my face, cooling my heated skin. Another voice is introduced. "How can I help?"

_I press my hands harder into the wound. Blood pours from between my fingers. I look around for someone, anyone, to help me. "There's nothing you can do to help him. He's as good as dead."_

Hands pull me upward. I struggle weakly against them, feeling exhaustion crash over me. Suddenly my body hits cold water. My eyes focus for a moment and I see Alec, Isabelle and Clary—

"_I can ruin your entire life, Jonathan—"_

My vision clears again. Izzy's eyes are red from crying—

_Chained to the wall in a five by five cell—_

Alec, his closed fist pushed firmly against his mouth as he struggles to keep control—

_Fighting to prevent Bragford's death—_

Then Clary. She's gripping my hand tightly, her green eyes rimmed in red. And she's whispering something over and over—

_Blood, blossoming in the place right above her heart—_

I suck in a fast breath and force my eyes open. The bathroom walls swirls into focus and I can breathe again. Shivering over takes my body as the world snaps back into place.

"Jace?" Clary asks, her hand tightening around mine. My teeth chatter as I focus on her eyes and feel the smallest amount of hope blossom inside of me. "Someone get him dry clothes," she says. Isabelle hurries out of the bathroom. "Help me get him out," she says to Alec. He steps into the tub and leans down awkwardly beside me in order to loop my arm over his shoulder.

Together they hoist me onto the bathroom floor. Izzy walks in with a pair of boxers, flannel pants, a t-shirt, a sweat shirt, and socks. "Can you manage alone, Alec?" Clary asks him. He nods once.

_I've lost her…_

She tries to pull her hand away but I don't let her. She blinks like she's confused but sits beside me again. My eyes flicker shut. "Stay with me, Jace," she says.

"I'll get him water," Isabelle says. Clary moves so she's sitting behind me then gently lifts my head so that it's resting in her lap. My eyes flicker shut again, but Clary whispers into my ear, trying to keep me awake.

"You can go to sleep soon," she says. I feel my freezing jeans get pulled off my body, and then my boxers which are soon replaced by a dry pair. I want to do this myself. I don't want to appear weak, but I am right now. So painfully weak. The simple act of keeping my eyes open is proving nearly impossible.

Clary sits me up and slides my shirt off of me. Alec pulls on a clean one and then the sweat shirt. The shivering subsides slightly. Izzy hands Clary a glass of water and she helps me drink. The water feels amazing on my throat.

"Help me get him to his room," Clary says. She shifts one of my arms over her shoulder and Alec does the same on my other side. The half carry me to my room then lie me in bed. I open my eyes just in time to see Clary start to walk away. With the last reserves of my strength, I reach out and grab her. She looks startled.

"Don't leave me," I mutter weakly. She meets my pleading eyes. "Please." My voice is barely a whisper, so soft I'm surprised if she can hear it at all. She inhales deeply then climbs into bed beside me. I lift my leaden arms and wrap one around her, trying to pull her closer. She gets what I'm trying to do and moves closer. She's so warm against my shivering body. I tilt my head so that my nose is buried in her hair and breathe her in. The last thing I notice before I drift off to sleep is the feeling of warm tears against my frozen neck.

**Questions, comments, and criticism are (like always) much appreciated. Thank you for reading!**


	12. Beginnings

**Because this chapter is oh-so-musically-inspired, I made a short playlist of the chapter:**

"_Collide" by: Howie Day_

"_Bulletproof Weeks" by: Matt Nathanson_

"_Doubting Thomas" by: Nickel Creek_

"_Always" by: Panic! at the Disco_

**I just realized I screwed up the last chapter. Clary helps to *ahem* "undress" Jace. We're going to work on the assumption that he was wearing an undershirt/wife-beater thing. **

**One more thing: ****City of Fallen Angels**** was Ah-maz-ing. **

**Enjoy the chapter!**

_**Our Favorite Mortal Instruments Quote of the Chapter:**_

"_**I know it's wrong-God, it's all kinds of wrong-but I just want to lie down with you and wake up with you, just once, just once ever in my life."**_

_**-Jace**_

**Clary P.O.V**

The first thing I notice as I wake up is the unusual angle of the light. My bright green walls are now an awful shade of off white and the room looks clean. More than clean actually; immaculate. And sitting on my desk (which apparently is metal now instead of wood) are pictures of people, most of who are in army fatigues. After the weirdness of realizing that apparently my room was redecorated by elves while I was sleeping, I notice something much more concerning.

An arm looped around my waist. A familiar, muscled arm covered in swirling black tattoos. Only then do all the events of the last twenty-four hours come swirling together and I start swirling apart. I blink against the harsh images that fill my head; Jace curled on the bathroom floor looking painfully vulnerable. Jace, grabbing at his hair and face in an attempt to rip his thoughts out of his head. Jace, begging me not to leave him. I clench my eyes shut in an attempt to banish the memories. The unmarked walls begin to close in and claustrophobia becomes my world.

I carefully lift his arm in an attempt to free myself without waking him. His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer to him so that my back is pressed against his chest. I take a shaky breath and try again, pulling away again. His arm loosens and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Morning," he mutters groggily. I close my eyes and curse myself for waking him up. I was hoping I wouldn't have to face him until I was more prepared. I brace myself as I turn around. My heart drops into my stomach. The skin around his eyes is bruised. There are scratches down his face from where he clawed at it. But my focus is on his eyes. The usual bright gold is dull and void of emotion.

"Morning," I manage to choke out. He tries to grin but it looks more like a grimace. He yawns and sits up. Even after hours of sleep, he still looks utterly exhausted. He pinches the bridge of his nose as if he's warding off a headache. I feel tired just looking at him. "Go back to sleep."

"Not a chance," he rasps as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Why not?" He stands and rolls his shoulders. I move to block his way.

"You don't want to mess with me right now, Red." He tries to sound harsh, but his voice is too weary to pull it off. I softly place a hand on his arm. He doesn't flinch away so I put my other hand on his shoulder. His eyes flicker shut and he lets out a breath. I rock onto my toes to kiss his cheek, lingering for longer than I probably should.

"Go to sleep, Jace," I say softly, placing my hands on his cheeks. He opens his eyes again and meets my gaze. His haunted eyes worry me. They usually hold a combination of vibrancy and distance. It gives him dual appearance of being a living, functioning participant in the world as well as living in the world he's created in his head. That familiar look has been replaced with vacancy. There's nothing there except the occasionally despair and self-loathing. Jace lets out a breath and rests his forehead against mine.

He nods once and lets me lead him back to bed. My heart pounds in fear. I've read about this in the textbooks, the effects of PSTD, but I've never witnessed it up close and never from someone I care about. I watch as he lies on his back and closes his eyes, his breathing slow and steady.

"Thank you," he whispers. I don't say anything. His eyes flicker open, searching for mine. He looks like a fallen angel; his shining gold hair gives the impression of a halo as it hovers over his worn features. He sits up, moving out of the light. Shadows fall over his features, erasing the effect. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For grabbing you—"

"I overreacted," I say quickly, knowing instantly that I've forgiven him.

"For forcing you to come here yesterday—"

"That wasn't your fa—"

"And for not being good enough for you." I wrap my arms over my waist, trying to hold myself together. Jace closes his eyes, flinches, then opens them again. "I don't know what's worse. The images I can't shake from my mind or the expression on your face?" I pick up his hand and hold it in mine. I run my fingers over the calluses and scars that mar his palm. I find his love line and lightly trace it.

"Don't leave," he says. My fingers stop in their path. Jace's face looks pained, like he considers needing someone a weakness and he refuses to be anything but strong. "I won't bite," he says, noting my unease. "Much," an edge of his arrogant tone peeking through and assuring me that somewhere inside this shell of a man, there's Jace. I grin, looking down at my tiny, pale hand, dwarfed by his larger, warmer one.

"Move over," I say softly. He looks at me as if he didn't believe this was real. He moves over slowly, never letting his eyes stray from mine, and dropping my hand as he does. I stretch out carefully beside him on the bed, not touching him at all. He turns to look at me with an expression I've never seen on his face before. An expression that made me think of the way my father looked at my mother, the one person he could never lay a hand on. The way a man looks at someone he doesn't think he could live through losing. A look that makes my heart speed up and slow down all at the same time. I want to turn away from the intensity of it but I can't. The sunlight turns him back into an angel.

"Good morning, Clary," he whispers. I watch him as his eyes flicker closed. He reaches out and gently grabs my hand, sending waves of fire up and down the length of my arm.

"Good night, Jace," I whisper. His lips curve up into a smile and all I want to do is kiss them.

**o:o:o**

I texted Simon and asked him to bring me a book or something. I don't want to leave Jace. He looks so fragile and peaceful that I can't bear to leave him. Simon, being the person he is, brought me a comic book, a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, my sketch pad and a pencil. He also brings me a box of granola bars, water and a message from the hospital asking where I am. I had completely forgotten about work. Too late now, I suppose. Seeing as Jace has a strong grip on my right hand, the sketch pad and pencil are useless.

I quickly got through the comic, which turned out to be the same exact copy he's been trying to get me to read for the past year. It was awful. I placed it on the floor, resisting the urge to throw it across the room, and glanced at Jace. He's so still I'd be afraid he's dead if it wasn't for the warm pulsing of his hand in mine. Jace smiles in his sleep and lets out a contented sigh.

I pick up my all time favorite classic and start to read. I'm just getting to the part when Elizabeth agrees to dance with Mr. Darcy when Jace releases my hand. The feeling of warmth draining from my body returns me to the 21st century. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls us closer together. His head ends up on my stomach, his warm breath brushing my skin. My heart pounds furiously in my chest. Carefully, I run my fingers through his hair, marveling at its softness. My fingers trail down his neck to trace the contours of his shoulder. He relaxes, pulling me tighter to him. I repeat the motion, letting it relax me, and start to think about him.

Jace is so…everything. He's funny, annoying and depressing all at once. He's a completely normal and the most incredible person I've ever known. He drives me insane, but I know that without him I'd go crazy. Whenever I'm around him, I don't want to leave. I want to stay with him until the day I die.

I didn't know what to think of him after what I now call the "Parking Lot Incident" but then I saw how broken he is all the time and I realized how hard he tries to shield everyone from himself. It made my heart ache so much I feared it was being torn from my chest. My heart picks up in fear just thinking about it. The only thing I could think as I held him and watched as he battled his demons was, _what will I do if I lose him?_ And the answer? Nothing. Because I don't think I can live without him. The realization hits me right in the chest.

"I think I'm in love with you," I whisper, so softly I can barely hear it myself. My heart pounds fiercely in my chest at my confession. His eyes flicker open. I stop moving, my fingertips hovering at the base of his neck.

"I heard that," he whispers. My heart pounds furiously in my chest, threatening to break through the skin. Jace pulls away from me and for a horrible moment I think he's going to leave and I'm going to break. Instead he moves so that he's holding me in his arms.

He gently plucks the book I'm gripping onto out of my fingers and reaches over me to drop it on the floor. His fingers gently trace the outline of my face. I close my eyes and feel myself tremble under the heat of his touch as his fingertips find their way to my lips.

I keep my eyes firmly shut, terrified of what I'll find when I open them. Is he angry? Confused? Or worse; just humoring me?

"About your re-do," Jace whispers. I pull away so that I can gage his expression, terrified of where this conversation could easily go.

"Hm?" I'm afraid to speak or do anything that may break the spell.

"It's crap." My eyes open in surprise. His grin widens and his eyes spark. He kisses my forehead then pulls me toward him so that my head is resting against his chest and we're tangled together. I grip the front of his shirt and pull myself flush against him. I don't want a millimeter of space between us. His muscles clench for a moment like he's not sure how to respond to me, then he puts his arms around me, pulling me closer. I'm lulled to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat and steady breathing.

**o:o:o**

Jace is awake before I am, drawing circles into my back with the tips of his fingers. "Morning," I whisper.

"Evening," he says in that tone he uses to correct people. I roll my eyes but the gesture is wasted on him.

"What time is it?"

"Midnight."

"That's not possible," I mutter, burying my face into his neck. He laughs, his chest shaking with the movement. It's quiet for awhile, the only sound being our breaths, perfectly in sync with each other. He takes in a breath and holds it.

"I need to tell you something," he says. I try to sit up so we can talk but he won't let me. "I'd rather not look at you as I say it." I grip his shirt in my fists and bury my face further into his neck.

"Alright. I'm ready." He chuckles again and tightens his grip on me. I feel his hot breath on the top of my head as he leans down to kiss it.

"I can't be your friend anymore."

My initial reaction is disbelief; _He's lying. He has to be. _ But he's not. And then my heart stops beating. My entire body goes cold, from the tips of my toes to every individual fiber of hair on my head. Hot tears well in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. He doesn't want to see me anymore. Can't stand to be near me.

"Clary," he says, sounding alarmed. He sits up and cradles me in his arms. "Clary, look at me." I shake my head, opting instead to bury my face so hard into his neck that I find it difficult to breathe. I inhale deeply, determined to commit his unique smell to memory. "Clary, please." His voice is soft, pleading. I peek out from around his neck and he rests his forehead against mine. "I can't be _just_ your friend. I want to be more."

"Oh," I say quietly, feeling my cheeks heat up. He grins then flips us so that I'm lying with my back against the mattress and he's hovering above me. I reach up to cup his cheek in my palm. "How long have you felt this way?" He lets out a breath, washing my face with warmth.

"With the risk of sounding cliché, I'm going to have to say since I first met you."

"You seem to be forgetting that when we first met, your hand looked like it had been in a fight with a cheese grader and lost. That and the trivial detail that I hated you and you most likely thought I was a bitchy know-it-all nurse." He smiles and flips so he's lying on his side. I turn so I'm facing him.

"Yeah, but you were so…spunky."

"Spunky?"

"Yep," he says, popping the "p". He grins and studies me, his eyes boring into mine as if he's trying to see straight into the depths of my soul. "What are you thinking?" He sounds genuinely curious.

"How I don't want to be just your friend either," I say honestly, my cheeks heating up.

"Are you sure?" The look on his face makes my heart hurt; he looks incredulous, as if he considers me an angel and himself the Devil and is trying so hard to figure out why I would want to be with someone like him. I trail my fingers down his face.

"Don't look at me like that," I say sternly.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't deserve me."

"I don't," he says. He doesn't look like the thought bothers him. He looks like it's a universal truth; like it's the thing he anchors his existence upon. I feel myself grow angry.

"Did you ever think about what I deserve? What I want?" His brow furrows in the most adorable way.

"Of course—"

"Did you ever even consider that it's you?" He grabs onto my hand and places a kiss on my palm.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, his golden eyes burning into mine.

"You won't."

"What about what—happened last night?"

"That wasn't your fault," I say fiercely, trying to convince him.

"Maybe not, but it didn't stop it from happening."

"I don't care," I say, gripping his face between my hands. "I don't care if you have five arms or a wife or PTSD. Actually, I probably would care if you had a wife. But that's not the point." I slide my fingers from his face onto his shoulders. "My point is that your imperfections are what make you perfect."

"What fortune cookie did you get that one out of?" he asks with a grin, able to find humor in everything. I flash him a half-hearted glare.

"I have problems too, you know. We all do. It's what makes us _human_." He cradles my small hand in his, tracing the lines on my palm. I cup his chin with my other hand, tilting his chin so that he's looking me in the face. "I want to be with you," I say with as much conviction as I can muster. He smiles and pulls me towards him so that our lips are hovering mere centimeters apart.

"I was hoping you'd say that." He closes the distance between us and kisses me, so light and gentle it's barely even a kiss. He pulls back to gauge my reaction, his eyes bright and shining, then crushes me to him. His hand presses into the small of my back, molding my body to his. I kiss him harder, losing myself in the taste of him. I feel lips turn up in an uncontrollable grin. Jace laughs against my mouth then pulls away.

"What are you smiling about?" Jace asks me. The light in his eyes fills me to bursting.

"I'm just really happy." He kisses me again.

"Are you now?" He kisses me again; sweet and lingering and absolutely perfect. I feel as if I could die of happiness. But of course things can't stay perfect for long and something has to ruin it. This time it's my stomach. Jace laughs and kisses me again.

"It appears I'm not feeding you properly." I wrinkle my nose in disgust and scold my stomach for its poor timing.

"Food's for wimps," I say kissing him again. His laughter breaks the kiss. He runs his fingers over my cheek, and then lightly kisses my lips.

"Let's get you something to eat," he says, rolling over and landing on the ground. I sigh as he helps me off the bed. The room is dark with the exception of the moonlight. Jace opens the door quietly and lifts a finger to his lips. He slips out of the room quickly in a surprisingly good imitation of some overdone James Bond move. I bite my tongue to stop from laughing and follow after him. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. In contrast to Jace's room, the kitchen is a mess. Dirty dishes are strewn over the counter, boxes of cereal are lying on their side, their contents spilling on the surface and the oven looks like its only purpose is storage. Jace is already riffling through the pantry. He pulls something out and flashes me a grin over his shoulder.

He walks over to me and grabs my hands, running his thumb over my palm and straightening my fingers. He lays a chocolate bar in it and my stomach growls in anticipation.

"Chocolate!" I say. "Thank you!" He laughs and I grab the edge of his shirt to use as leverage and pull myself up to kiss him. His hand slips to the small of my back, pulling me towards him. My hands drift over his shoulders and loop around his neck, closing any distance between us. Without realizing we're moving, I end up against the counter. His hands land on my waist and he lifts me up to the counter. His lips stray from mine, giving me a much needed chance to breathe. My heart hammers in my chest as he makes a trail down my neck to my shoulder. He pushes the fabric of my shirt away and kisses the line of my collarbone. He stops at the end of it, his warm breath flooding over my skin as he lets out a sigh. Jace rests his forehead on my shoulder.

"You drive me absolutely insane, I hope you know that."

"Is that good or bad?" I ask with a smile.

"It depends," he says, lifting his head so he can look me in the eye, "on how much self control you think I have."

"And how much do you have?"

"Around you? None." Jace's lips find mine again. His hands slide under my shirt, his fingertips digging into my bare flesh. Without warning, he releases me. I let out a squeak of protest and he smiles. "There's food in the fridge. Help yourself. I'm going to take a shower. And no," he says with a grin, "you can't come with me." I roll my eyes which only makes him laugh.

"And who says I want to?

"Honey, _everyone_ wants to." I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head, choosing to ignore his comment.

"Do you want anything?" I ask.

"You."

"To eat, you perv." He kisses my lips lightly, teasing, then smirks as he pulls away.

"Surprise me," he says as he turns to walk away. "You always do."


	13. Normalcy

**Hey, everyone! Sorry it's taken so long! I'm currently searching for a new Beta-reader so if any one's interested, shoot me a message! **

**I would also like to tell you that I wrote this chapter outside. In the dark. At 10 o'clock at night. With mosquitoes. And a whole host of creepy things breaking branches in the woods. Give me some leeway here people! I'm truly trying my darndest. **

_Our Favorite Mortal Instruments Quote of the Chapter:_

"'_That's a mango.' Simon stared at Jace. Sometimes, it really was like Shadowhunters were from an alien planet.  
'I don't think I've ever seen one of those that wasn't already cut up,' Jace mused. 'I like mangos.'"_

_ -Jace and Simon (City of Fallen Angels)_

"When did Dr. Gretsky say I'd get the results back again?" twelve-year-old Claire Camille asks through the thermometer stuck in her mouth. Two days ago she was brought into the ER after having collapsed at a dinner party. When she was eight, she was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma and two years later was told she was cancer-free. The doctors are now afraid that it's returned.

"She said the tests should be back by next week." Claire makes a face and crosses her arms over her chest. The thermometer beeps and I pull it out of her mouth. "Your temperature is a little high, but nothing too concerning."

"So I'm okay?" she asks.

"We won't know for sure until the test results come in." I don't have the heart to tell her the truth; the doctors noted yesterday that her lymph nodes are enlarged and she's lost weight; two signs that the cancer has returned. I toss out the tip to the thermometer and put it back on my cart.

"When do you think they'll let me go home?" she asks me in a small voice. From the second I entered my first class to get my nursing degree, my teacher's told me not to give a patient false hope. Before now, that was never a problem. I worked in the ER; my job was to stitch up the patients, and then send them to someone whose job it was to care. Thanks to Dr. Bane, I'm now stuck with a dying girl, her sad eyes and the truth.

"I'm not sure. But you should know that—" My words are cut off as a pair of muscular arms envelope me from behind. My captor plants a soft kiss on my cheek and the smell of Jace overwhelms me.

"Hey, Red," he whispers into my ear. I let out an irritated sigh and he lets go of me with a laugh.

"Claire, I'd like to introduce you to my—Jace." For some reason I can't make my lips form the word "boyfriend". Even after two weeks, it's hard to connect that _word_ with Jace. "He's harmless—mostly." Claire grins.

"By 'my Jace' she means her boyfriend." I feel my cheeks heat up.

"And this is Claire," I say. "She was just admitted a few days ago."

"Nice to meet you," Jace says with the grin that can make even the most stony-hearted girl fall in love with him. Claire's cheeks flush. "What are you in for?" he asks her. I feel my muscles tense, but I let Claire answer.

"Cancer," she answers calmly. "Hodgkin's Lymphoma to be exact. Dr. Gretsky's afraid it's coming back."

"You look fairly strong. I'm sure you'll be fine, no matter what happens." Claire's eyes drift back to the TV screen where the baseball game is playing; Yankees versus the Sox. I pull the blood pressure cuff from the cart and strap it onto her outstretched arm.

"Is this live?" he asks Claire.

"No, it's from last night but I'd never miss a Yankees game so…" Jace sits in the chair by her bedside and watches the game with her. They start talking baseball: the players, the coaches, best games, worst games etc. I drone them out after awhile and focus on Claire. Her blood pressure is elevated, but that tends to be the effect of Jace's presence on most girls. Other than that, her vitals are fairly normal. I return everything to my cart and scribble notes on Claire's chart. Jace's eyes flash to mine.

"Do you mind if I steal Clary from you?" Jace asks Claire.

"Uh—no," she answers, her cheeks heating up as she stammers through the words.

"I'll try to drop by sometime and see how you're doing," Jace tells her. She smiles bigger than I've ever seen her smile before. Jace stands and takes hold of my hand, steering the cart with his other hand, and shouts a goodbye over his shoulder.

"I think she likes you," I say, grinning up at him.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I already have a girlfriend. She's a legal midget and a know-it all—but," he says as I try to interject, "she's the best thing that's ever happened to me." I roll my eyes and bite my lip to hide the grin.

"Way to be cheesy," I say, grabbing onto his other hand. He leans forward and kisses my forehead.

"I already signed you out," he says as he drops one of my hands to lead me down the hallway.

"What?" I ask. "Jace, I have to finish my rounds!" I say, pulling my hand out of his. I flash a glance back at my cart, abandoned in the middle of the hallway.

"No you don't," he rebuts, turning to face me. I stand in front of him and cross my arms over my chest. "Has anyone ever told you that you're adorable when you're angry."

"Don't you dare try to be cute. That won't get you anywhere with me today." His worried eyes scan over the planes of my face.

"Is everything alright?"

"I'm tired. It's been a long week," I say with a weak grin.

"That's because you've been working all week. I haven't seen you at all except for the fleeting moments when I'm wheeling in someone with blood pouring out of his chest and I tell you the fascinating story of how he got that way. I don't think that's very romantic." He steps forward and wraps his arms around me. I allow myself to relax. "Come with me. I already signed you out."

"I can't just leave," I mutter against the fabric of his shirt.

"You're not 'just leaving'," he says, pulling away from me. "I'm kidnapping you." His grin is a mixture between the cutest and scariest look I've ever seen on his face.

"_Kidnapping_ me? Did nobody ever tell you that you don't inform a girl your kidnapping her?"

He grins. "It never came up." He lunges forward, picking me up off the ground then swinging me over his shoulder.

"Jace!" I shriek, ineffectually pounding at his back with my fists. He laughs and walks calmly past the front desk and waves to a smiling Maia. "Let me down!"

"Not a chance." He carries me towards the front door and I realize he's not going to let me go.

"I'll pull out my rape whistle," I warn.

"You don't carry a rape whistle," he says. The cold air hits me like a slap across the face and I feel myself shudder.

"I'm freezing," I say.

"Maybe if you cooperated you'd be wearing a jacket."

"You're not a very nice boyfriend," I say, relaxing so I lie limply over his shoulder. He lets me down in front of Betty, his car, and opens the passenger door for me.

"I never said I was nice," he says. He slides in the car then snatches a jacket from the back seat and hands it to me. I quickly pull it on. Jace glances at the clock and shakes his head with a grin. "All of your childish antics are going to make us late." He turns the key and puts the car into drive.

"Where are we going?"

"The movies."

"You're kidding," I say humorously. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Not weird enough for you?" he asks.

"Compared to the rest of our non-dates, it comes up a little short."

"Non-dates? Just because I didn't say 'Clary, this is a date' doesn't mean it wasn't a date." I roll my eyes and rub my hands together. Jace notices and turns the heat up. "I feel insulted by your lack of appreciation. I put a lot of thought into my kidnap-Clary-and-take-her-on-a-normal-date plan."

"To be quite honest I'm a little disappointed in you," I say with a grin as I pull my frozen fingers into the much to long sleeves of Jace's sweatshirt.

"It's never a good idea to insult your kidnapper." Jace just barely manages to hide his grin.

"Yes. Because you're _terrifying_." His eyes flash quickly to me.

"You haven't seen the half of it, Red." He holds out his hand, palm side up. I slip my hand into, interlacing my frozen fingers with his and marveling at the warmth of the calloused surface. He pulls over to a theater not even three blocks from the hospital.

"This really required a car?" I ask.

"I was _trying _to be classy. Next time, you're welcome to walk." He puts Betty in park and turns to look at me. He grins, then leans forward to kiss me. It was much too short for my liking. "I've been looking forward to that all day." He moves to get out of the car but I grab onto his collar and pull him back towards me. I kiss him again, longer this time and feel his smile against my lips.

"That's not a good idea, Ms. Fray." His fingertips rest on my cheeks, gently holding my head in place.

"And why is that, Mr. Herondale?" He plants one foot and pivots so that he's half-straddling me. My hands, torn from his collar as he moved, drop into my lap. He braces himself against the chair behind me, one hand on either side of my face. The warmth radiating off of him is incredible. He kisses me again, more fiercely and lasting then before, giving me the perfect taste of what he's capable of. I fling my hands around his neck. He breaks away, allowing me the opportunity to breathe.

"That's why," he whispers, turning his head to kiss my cheek. Before I have a chance to tell him that whatever caused that kiss was potentially the best idea of my life, Jace pushes open the passenger door, letting in a wave of freezing air. He slips gracefully out of the car and holds the door open for me, extending a hand. I, stubbornly, refuse to show him how much his kiss has affected me.

"Thank you, kind sir. I don't know how I would have fared without you!" I press my hand dramatically to my forehead.

"Watch it, Red. This may be the only chivalrous moment you'll ever get out of me." I rock onto my toes and kiss his cheek, silently urging my hands to stop shaking.

"Then make that 'thank you' genuine." He leads me forward by the hand and into the lobby of the empty theater.

"There's something we need to contemplate before we go further," he says, all humor erased from his face. I look up at him skeptically. "We have to choose the movie." I grin and roll my eyes at his theatrics. He opens the door for me and I walk into the empty lobby. "We could go with a romance movie, which most people assume is a good choice for a date, but the way I see it, it just makes the couple have unrealistic expectations as to what a relationship should be. Hollywood truly has a knack for ruining fledgling relationships. Then there's the—"

"Jace?" I say, touching his arm lightly.

"Yeah?" His brow is furrowed, making him look adorably confused.

"You're rambling."

He grins. "Something about you tends to bring out the worst in me."

"I like it when you ramble."

"Well that's strange. And here I was thinking you liked me because of my dashing good looks and charm. That puts quite the damper on our relationship."

"You didn't have a movie planned before we got here?"

"Nah. I rented out the theater so I thought—"

"You rented out the theater!"

"Did I forget to mention that? My bad," he's grinning at me; that grin that makes my stomach flip and my knees weak. He leads me over to the counter; bare except for a thick, white, three-ring binder lying in the center of it. "These are the movies you can choose from," he says.

"I can't believe you did this," I say, turning in my spot and staring incredulously at the empty theater. He throws an arm over my shoulder and kisses the crown of my head.

"Anything for you," he says. I can hear the grin in his voice. I open the giant binder and flick through the pages, each showing the movie poster accompanied with a short synopsis of the movie.

"How about this one?" I ask, pointing to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

"You're kidding," he says. "I never thought you'd be much of a horror buff."

"You see, the thing with horror is that if I get scared," I grin and pull him down for a kiss, "you'll be there to comfort me." He grins and kisses me again.

"I like the way you think."Jace unclips the page from the binder.

"I'll be right back." He disappears behind the "employees only" door. He's back minutes later.

"Theater one," he says.

"Did I ever mention what a wonderful, amazing, _handsome_ boyfriend you are?" He laces his fingers with mine and stops us momentarily for an opportunity to kiss me.

"It wouldn't hurt you to mention it more often." He throws an arm around my shoulder and I wrap my arm around his waist. For the first time in weeks, I feel relaxed.

**0.0.0**

As the camera backs away from the final scene and the screen fades to black, I turn to look at Jace only to find that he's already looking at me. The dark background music does nothing to dim the light in his golden eyes.

"Dance with me," he says.

"What?" He stands and walks into the empty aisle, offering me his outstretched hand.

"Dance with me."

"Your insane," I say, laughing. "We're in a dark movie theater, the music is depressing and there's always the little detail that I _can't dance_." I stand up and try to push through him but he blocks the way.

"Nonsense. You're Clary Fray. You can do _anything_." He flashes me his million watt smile and I feel my resolve weaken.

"You're faith in me is astounding, but truly, I can't." Jace leans towards me, placing his hands on my hips. He kisses me like he did that last time in the car and I forget everything—where we are, what he's asking…my _name_.

"Dance with me, Clary." His warm breath washes over my face and I find myself nodding. Jace leads me to the front of the theater, under the giant screen displaying the names of the actors. He takes one of my hands and places it on his shoulder and holds my other in his own. His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me closer to him. He sways with me, gently turning us in a circle.

"You're insane," I say, resting my upturned chin against his chest. He kisses my forehead.

"So I've been told."

I dance with him for what feels both like hours and minutes; until the music fades and the screen goes black. The only reason we stop is because the owner comes in telling us it's time to leave. If not for that, I think we may have danced forever.


	14. Passing

**Jeez guys. I don't know why you've been asking me for an update so much. It's only been…HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL! FOUR MONTHS! AHHHHH!**

**I. Am. So. Sorry. Forgive me! This is a fairly fun chapter to make up for it though 3 Thank you lovely readers for being so amazing :)**

**November: Thanksgiving Day**

This year, I'm spending Thanksgiving like I usually do; with Jonathan, Simon and Luke. Except unlike the previous years, we have a few welcome additions; Jace, Isabelle and Alec. When I learned that their idea of Thanksgiving is sitting in the apartment, eating frozen, TV dinner turkey and watching football, I invited them to come with Simon and me to Luke's. The Drs. Lightwood always worked Thanksgiving evening in order to have Christmas free and did not protest at all to the new plans.

The ride to Luke's was surprisingly comfortable. Simon and Jace insulted each other less than usual, which I consider to be an improvement. Beneath the dining room table, I smooth my palms over the skirt of the Thanksgiving dress I bought last week with Isabelle. She had taken one look at my closet, before shaking her head and dragging me to the nearest mall. She dressed me in a red and black plaid dress with the sleeves cut off just past my shoulders. It's loose with the exception of the belt, perfectly matching the pattern of the dress, tied securely around my waist to give me artificial curves.

Unlike the ride to Luke's, the dinner is very tense. Luke seemed to automatically dislike Jace from the moment he walked through the front door. Considering Luke is essentially my father, this is understandable. Jace's strikingly good looks and charm are enough to put any father on edge. I push my potatoes around on my plate, trying to muster up an appetite. Jace's hand slips underneath mine, the back of his palm lying on my knee and his fingers interlacing with mine.

"Why are you so tense?" he whispers to me.

"You and Luke aren't getting along," I mutter under my breath. I feel Jace staring at me, but I avoid his eyes, focusing intently as I shape my potatoes into a tower. He rubs his thumb over my knuckles as the silence in the room grows uncomfortably.

"So, Luke," Jace says, speaking up. "What did you do for work?" I look up at a confused looking Luke who blinks before meeting Jace's eyes.

"I'm retired military. Currently running a bookstore to pay the bills," he answers. Jace grins at this, despite the increased tension in his jaw.

"Well there's something we have in common," Jace replies. "I'm ex-military too." The look on Luke's face changes to one of hesitant respect.

"What branch?" he asks.

"Army."

"You quit?"

"Honorably discharged. Earned a Purple Heart and a DSC."

"What the hell did you do to earn that?" Luke asks. Jace's eyes drop down to his plate and his hand tightens around mine. I look up to Isabelle with panicked eyes. She glances at me, and then looks at Jace again.

"Uh, what's a DCS?" an oblivious Simon asks.

"It's a DSC," Luke says. "It stands for Distinguished Service Cross. It's one of the highest military honors you can be given, second only to the Medal of Honor. He's got to be one hell of a hero to earn that." I watch as Jace's jaw clenches even more. The room is silent as everyone waits for Jace to speak.

"I'm no hero," he says softly. I squeeze his hand softly, trying to give him a little comfort. "I just did what I was trained to do."

After that, the conversation flowed easily between them.

**December: Christmas Eve**

Simon and I are lying on the couch, watching Christmas specials when we hear a knock on the door.

"I bet it's your boy toy," Simon says, turning the volume up. "Try to make out more quietly this time." I roll my eyes and get up to answer the door. Low and behold, there's Jace standing in the doorway wearing an elf hat and carrying a fairly large present.

"Hey!" I say. "Is that for me?" He kisses my nose and slides past me.

"Nope. It's for Nerd boy."

"You got Simon, and by that I mean _Simon Lewis_, a present, and not me?"

"Yeah, why not. It's the only one he's going to get. And you'll be getting my present later." I hit him in the shoulder and lead him into the living room.

"Herondale," Simon says, taking his eyes off the television.

"Lewis," he responds, throwing the gift at him. Simon throws his hands up to protect his face. Jace drops onto the sofa, putting his arm over my shoulders as I slide myself down beside him. He plucks the hat off of his head and places it on mine, then kisses me.

"What the hell is this?" Simon ask.

"It's called a kiss. I'd say you should know what it is, but considering who you—"

"I know what a kiss is, Herondale. As much as your PDA disgusts me that is not what I am referring to."

"Oh, then you must be referring to your Christmas present," Jace responds, tugging me closer to his side. I lean into him, soaking up his warmth.

"I hope you didn't want anything in return," he says. Jace rolls his eyes kisses the top of my head. Simon opens the gift cautiously. "This won't blow up in my face or anything right?" he asks.

"Don't be ridiculous! I would never endanger Clary's life like that." I laugh as Simon flips him off. Simon pulls the object out of the paper and pauses for a moment.

"What the hell is this?" Simon asks, staring into the eyes of some sort of stuffed animal.

"It's a Pillowpet!" Jace says.

"Yeah, but what _is it?"_

"I think it's supposed to be a cat," I interject. Simon flips it over, examining it as if he's never encountered anything like it before in his life. Simon un-does the Velcro and stares at it some more.

"There's a note," he says, looking up at Jace. "Why is there a note?"

"I don't know," Jace responds in mock surprise. "Why don't you read it? Out loud."

"I don't trust you," he says.

"Come on, Simon," I say, nudging him with my foot. He rolls his eyes and un-folds the paper.

"'_Dear new owner. Although I've only known you for a few seconds, I already feel very close to you. I look forward to spending the next few years watching you sleep_.' Well, _that's_ not creepy…"

"Keep reading!" I say.

"'_I hope that one day, after you have grown attached and feel as though you cannot live without me, I will find another who is more attractive then you. Also, I would like a little top hat to wear on my weekend excursions to the brothel. With eternal love until I get bored of you (it will be any second now I'm sure), Ms. Sassy Cat_.'" Simon stares at the letter, then at Jace. "What the hell?"

"Isabelle wrote the note," Jace whispers to me. "But don't tell him. He thinks he finally found a friend."

"Very funny, Herondale. One day, when you least expect it, you will wake up and see this—thing _staring at you_."

"I look forward to it, Lewis. I look forward to it."

**December: Christmas Day**

I woke up this morning to find a dozen red roses lying on my kitchen counter with a note attached reading, "7823 Lowell Avenue. Be there at 11 AM." I brush my fingers across the letters, written in Jace's blocky, military style hand writing. A glance at the clock reveals that it's already 10:28 so I hurry to get ready.

Half an hour later, I'm pulling up in front of a sketchy looking, windowless, brick building. I climb out of the car and double check the address. The wind cuts through the tunnel created by the buildings, and chills me. I hustle inside the building, pulling my jacket firmly around me. It's scary dark inside. Fear crowds inside me and for a moment I think I've been set up, that this is all some plot to kidnap me.

And then he switches the lights and the room changes. Light blue Christmas lights line every wall, lighting the surprisingly large room with their artificial light. The room is bare with the exception of a Christmas tree, offering the only color. And then there's Jace leaning against the wall, dressed in jeans and a jacket, strained against his shoulders.

"Merry Christmas," he says, walking towards me. He cups my face in his hands and plants a soft kiss on my lips.

"What's all this?" I ask.

"You're Christmas present." He grabs my hand and pulls me to the tree. Lying underneath it is a rectangular box, wrapped in shiny green paper. He picks it up and hands it to me. I flip it over in my hands, trying to get a feel for what it could be, before tearing it open.

"Pencils?" I ask, staring at the artists pencils lying in the palm of my hand.

"I was asking Jonathan what I should get you for Christmas and he told me you used to be really into art. He said you always had a pencil in your hand until your mom left and you stopped drawing."

"So you bought me pencils?" I ask.

"No. I bought you this room. Your new art studio." My eyes flash up to him.

"Is this a joke?" He grins at me, shaking his head. I throw myself at him, tossing my hands over his neck and holding myself tight against him. He spins me around, laughing as he does so. "Thank you," I say, kissing him as he puts me down. "Thank you so much." I kiss him again, deeper and longer. "Next to that, my present looks pathetic."

"Somehow, I doubt that." I drop my gaze and reach into the pocket of my jacket and pass him the crumpled envelope that holds his present. He opens it and reads what I've written inside, then looks up at me, his eyes flashing.

"You _do _listen to me!" he says, holding onto the gift card to a local auto body shop that would allow him to fix up Betty, something he's been talking about doing but never got around to actually _doing_. He leans down and kisses me. "Thank you," he says. I look down at my feet. "No, really. _Thank you_." I look up into his golden eyes and kiss him.

**February 5****th**

I'm just sitting down with my sketchbook and a cup of coffee when someone knocks on the door.

"Simon, can you get that?" I call.

"I'm busy!" he shouts back.

"With what?"

"Hiding!" I look up from my drawing and stare at the wall, completely astounded by the stupidity of that statement. After a moment I get up and answer the door.

It's Jace.

"Where is he?" Jace asks, storming into the room.

"Who?" I ask.

"Who do you think?"

"Simon?"

"The one and only."

"What did he do?" Jace lifts up Ms. Sassy Cat. Ever since New Year's Day, when Jace found it sitting on his pillow, the two of them have been hiding it in places they know the other will find. Jace put it between the bottles of vodka at the bar Simon works at, Simon placed it in Betty's driver's seat, Jace put it in the shower (I was lucky enough to find it that time) and on and on it went.

"Where was it?"

"The ambulance. The douche bag actually got Isabelle to put it in _the ambulance_." I throw my hand over my mouth to cover the laughter. "Yeah, it's hilarious. Until you hear the part where I'm throwing open the back doors to put a man in the back and this thing is staring at me with a scalpel in one hand and a—"

"Scalpel in one _paw_," I correct.

"With a scalpel in one _paw_ and a surgery mask on looking like some sort of demented serial killer. We almost dropped the guy."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. Well, he died. But not because we dropped him." I shake my head. "So where is it?"

"It?"

"The thing. Nerd Boy. Simon."

"Hiding."

"Tell him to watch his back," Jace says.

"Will do." Jace stops in the doorway as he's leaving, then turns around.

"Good night, Clary," he says, taking a step towards me and tilting my face up. He kisses me once, sweetly and lingering.

"Good night," I sigh back.

"2AM lunch tomorrow?" he asks. I nod and kiss him again before he leaves.

**February: Valentines Day**

I'm just finishing a suture when Dr. Bane pokes his head in the room, and tells me there's an ambulance coming in. I tie off the stitch, call for another nurse and shrug into a trauma gown. I'm just jogging outside when the ambulance pulls up. The back doors open and there's Jace, pulling the gurney out and onto the ground.

"What do we have?" Dr. Bane asks.

"23-year-old man. Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. BP's 120 over 70. Neighbor called when she heard the gunshots. He's been down for about 20 minutes." I rush alongside Jace, hooking him up to the appropriate monitors.

"We need five units of O neg!" Dr. Bane cries as he rushes in through the ER doors. "Fray, start the IV." Dr. Bane eases in the intubator, attaches the bag and begins to pump precious air into the man's lung. I take control of the BVM when I'm done with the line. Jace stands back, watching us work. "We need to get him into the OR soon if we're going to stop this bleeding before he bleeds out."

"I'll page the OR!" Maia calls. Two minutes later, the OR team is here and wheeling him away. I glance down at the blood covering my entire body. Jace comes up behind me and turns me around.

"Do you think he'll make it?" I whisper. Jace sighs and rests his forehead against mine.

"Do you want the truth?" I nod. "No. He's lost too much blood." I bite my lip, trying to fight the emotional pain with a physical one.

"I hate this job," I whisper. He kisses my forehead, then each of my cheeks before finally landing his lips on my own.

"No. You don't. You love helping people. You hate watching them die." I wrap my arms around him, shuddering at the thought of the poor man's life's blood saturating the clothes between us. Jace holds me tightly.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he says. His words are tinted with sadness.


	15. Vacation

_Mortal Instruments Quote of the Chapter:_

_"Aren't they supposed to be hiring someone else to train me full-time anyway?"  
"Yes," he said, getting up and pulling her to her feet along with him, "and I'm worried that if you get into the habit of making out with your instructors, you'll wind up making out with him, too."  
"Don't be sexist. They could find me a female instructor."  
"In that case you have my permission to make out with her, as long as I can watch."  
"Nice." Clary grinned, bending down to fold up the blanket they'd brought to sit on. "You're just worried they'll hire a male instructor and he'll be hotter than you."  
Jace's eyebrows went up. "Hotter than me?"  
"It could happen," Clary said, "you know, theoretically."  
"Theoretically, the planet could suddenly crack in half, leaving me on one side and you on the other side, forever and tragically parted, but I'm not worried about that either. Some things," Jace said, with his customary crooked smile, "are just too unlikely to dwell upon."_

_Jace and Clary_

"How would you like to get away from all of this?" Jace asks me over an enormous pile of paperwork and a steaming mug of coffee. I glance up at him and rub my eyes.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"2 AM" I sigh and write a note in the margins of one of the patient files I'm going through.

"Why are you still up?" I ask him, meeting his glowing eyes. "And why are you so awake?" He beams at me and lifts up the computer I didn't notice he was holding. The screen displays a picture of a hotel overlooking the ocean.

"I was talking to Isabelle and Alec this afternoon and we all agreed that it's about time we get away from New York."

"And go…there?"

"Yep."

"But you have a huge house right next to the ocean," I point out.

"But my house does not have room service. Or a complementary continental breakfast. Or a penthouse restaurant. Or a pool." I sent him a pointed look. "And something else, but I can't tell you," he says with a smirk.

"Keeping secrets are we?" I ask.

"I prefer to consider it…a surprise." I walk around the table and pry the laptop out of his hand before setting it on the kitchen table.

"Are you sure you can't tell me?" I ask, rocking onto my toes so that I can whisper it into his ear. "I would be very grateful if you could tell me." He laughs, his warm breath flooding across my skin.

"You'll have to go to find out," he reciprocates.

"Well when you put it that way…" I kiss him quickly on the lips then pull away. "I'll go."

"Good."

"It's time for bed, mister." He pulls me back and kisses me again.

"I have no opposition to that."

"To sleep."

"Where's the fun in that?" he asks, flashing his ten watt smile.

"Nice try," I say through a yawn. He interlocks our fingers and leads me to bed. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

**0.0.0**

Jace hoists our bags over his shoulder and takes my hand.

"I can take that you know," I remind him.

"But making you carry your own bag wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me, would it?" I kiss his cheek and lean against him.

"Would the two of you please stop," Simon says, climbing out of the car behind me. Jace slings his unoccupied arm around my shoulders and kisses me right on the lips.

"Ignore him," Jace tells me. "He's just jealous of what we have." Isabelle and Alec pull up beside us. Isabelle jumps out of the car and rushes over to us, her high heels clacking on the pavement.

"Clarissa Fray. I thought we had agreed that you would be wearing that nice green summer dress we _just_ bought," she says, eyeing my jean shorts and tank top.

"I'm sorry, Izzy. I was going to wear it but I—"

"Excuses, excuses. Never mind. This just puts you in my debt." I smile as Alec walks over with his duffel slung over one shoulder and Isabelle's two suitcases dragging behind him. He shakes his head at her, a scowl on his face that I've learned is his version of a grin.

"Come on, Izzy. Let the poor girl off with a warning." Izzy looks me up and down and nods grudgingly.

"Considering her replacement outfit isn't completely horrendous, I think I can let her off easy this once." She bumps her hip against mine. "Well are we going in or not?" she asks, grabbing her suitcases from Alec and heading for the door. Jace kisses the top of my head as we follow her in.

Somehow, Isabelle has already made her way into the building and to the front desk by the time we had walked through the front door.

"She moves fast," I comment, eyeing her five-inch heels. Jace laughs and follows behind, gazing around the huge foyer.

"Hi, Red," says a voice from behind me. I turn around and there's Jonathan, standing with his hands in his pockets. "No hug for your big brother?"

"Jonathan!" I practically squeal, getting a running start before flinging myself in his arms. He staggers backwards a step, his arms flung around me. "I can't believe you're here!" He twirls me around, laughing, then sets me back on my feet. He kisses the side of my head.

"Good to see you, too."

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Vacationing of course," he responds coolly.

"And _why_ didn't you tell me?"

"I was told I'm supposed to be a surprise." I turn around and see Jace, standing back, watching.

"You," I say, walking over to him. "You set this up." He kisses me softly on the lips.

"Maybe." I kiss him again.

"Have I ever mentioned what an _amazing, wonderful, beautiful, perfect_ boyfriend you are?"

"It wouldn't hurt you to mention it more." I roll my eyes and kiss him again, then fling my arms around Jonathan once again.

**0.0.0**

"Simon, no!" Isabelle shrieks, as Simon slings her over his shoulder and heads towards the pool. She pounds viciously on his back, trying to free herself. Simon flings her forward, but she catches him on the way down so they both end up in the water. "You asshole!" she screams as she comes up.

The rest of us sit on the edge of the pool, drinking our complementary margaritas and laughing hysterically.

"Get in the water, Fray!" Simon screams at me. Isabelle pulls herself onto the edge of the pool and pries of her heels.

"Do you have _any_ idea how much these cost?" Isabelle screams.

"Come on, Red," Jonathan says, stripping off his t-shirt and heading for the water. I laugh and follow him. The water is that perfect pool temperature. Warm yet refreshing.

"Come in, Jace!" I call, swimming toward the edge.

"I'll pass." He stands and stretches, finishing the rest of his beer.

"Don't want to get your hair wet?" I ask my voice surprisingly light and my eyes teasing. He rolls his eyes and smiles at me. "I thought Jace Herondale would jump at the first chance to rip off his clothes."

"You're cute." I climb out of the pool and approach him.

"I know. Will you come in the water?" I ask, placing my hands on his chest. He pries them away and stares down at the wet hand prints on his chest.

"Not a chance."

"Not even if I ask you. Very nicely."

"Not even if you ask me very nicely."

"Not even if I ask you very nicely _and_ kiss you."

"Not even then." I sigh, placing my hands on my hips and scanning his perfectly toned body with my eyes. It's simply a crime to keep those shoulders covered.

"There is no way you get to check me out and I don't get to do the same for you," I say, picking up a towel from a lounge chair and wrapping it around my stomach. He sighs. "Please go swimming," I plead. I tuck the corner of the towel in so that my hands are free and place my hands on his waist. He shakes his head, grinning at me, and kisses the top of my head. "Why'd you agree to go swimming if you weren't actually going to go swimming?"

"Because you asked me and I can't say no to you." I smile and rest my head against his chest. He sighs and wraps his arms around my waist, resigning himself to the soaking.

"I can always make you," I say deviously. I grab onto the bottom of his shirt. His hands fly to my wrists and he grips tem tightly, his eyes turning from sunshiny gold to liquid fire. His nails dig into my wrist and I feel myself freeze. I yank my arms away and stagger backwards.

"Clary…" he says, his eyes widening as he realizes what he's done. He turns and rushes out of the pool room. Despite my shock and near heartbreak, I run after him, ignoring Jonathan's, who had apparently seen the whole thing, protests.

All I could think was that I can't lose him.

I don't think I'd be able to take that.


	16. Truth

**JACE'S P.O.V**

Some people spend their whole lives in the shadows. They hide behind the strong, the bold, the kind. They're not particularly anything. They're average.

I've spent my life fighting for the opposite. I have always wanted to be extraordinary. Now, it seems that all I am is an extraordinary asshole.

I ran through the lobby and up to my room without even thinking about where I was going. I needed a door that locked. A room that was quiet. A place where I could hate my PTSD and how it seemed to destroy everything that matters to me.

I let my fingers brush across the scars on my stomach, feeling the burn of them like they were new again. Clary is the type of girl who can look past the ugliness of the scars. But I'm not sure even she would want to be with me once she learns just how deeply wounded I am.

There's a knock at the door. I don't say anything hoping he'll go away. Another knock.

"Go away, Alec."

"It's not Alec." Clary's unmistakable voice reaches my ears. I don't say anything, holding onto a childish hope that she'll go away. "If you didn't want anyone to know you were in there, you shouldn't have said anything." Despite everything I feel myself smile and go to open the door. She slides in and stands in front of me, crossing her arms over her bare stomach. She looks menacing, despite the fact that she has to crane her neck to look up at me.

"What the hell was that about?"

"It's a long story, Red."

"Don't you 'Red' me. I saw that look on your face. I know it was the PTSD." I feel the grin slip from my face. Her red hair, made darker by the water, is plastered to her face. I brush it away with my fingertips and push it behind her ear. Her eyes soften.

"Why don't you go change?"

"Jace…"

"We'll talk when you're more comfortable." Her eyes hold mine. "I promise." Her small hand with their artists fingers reach up to brush against my cheek.

"Five minutes." Her thumb slips over my cheekbones and then she turns and leaves. I leave the lock bar down so that the door would be open for her.

I've only conveyed the story of my scars twice; once during a mandatory briefing while I was still in the hospital and the second to the Lightwoods. I walk into the bathroom and pull my shirt off. The image of the angry red scars bounces back at me. I touch the one made over my heart; the deliberate carving made by the leader of a terrorist cell. I trace the too familiar curves and lines, recalling with startling clarity the feeling of a knife slicing through skin and muscle. I let my fingers stop where the mark ends.

I splash my face with water, trying to wash away the feeling of fear. When I straighten up, I hear a gasp. I see Clary in the mirror, dressed in jean shorts and a t-shirt, her hand covering her mouth. She shakes off her surprise, gently grabbing my arm and turning me to look at her.

Her hand gently touches my chest, covering most of the scar. "_That'__s_ why I've never seen you shirtless." She stares at her own hand, the edges of the scar peeking out from between her fingers. Her left hand trails down my stomach, ghosting over the other, smaller scars while her right hand stays on my chest. "I can feel your heart pounding," she whispers. I gently grab onto her hand and remove it from my skin.

"You tend to have that effect on me." She turns her hand in mine to intertwine our fingers. "I think it's time I tell you what happened to me."

"Are you sure?" I take a minute to think about it.

"You deserve to know." I grab a towel and dry my face before pulling my shirt back on then lead us over to the two chairs near the windows overlooking the ocean. "I joined the service right out of high school. I was young and the Lightwood's already had to pay for Alec and Isabelle and I wanted to make things easy for them. They had taken me in when I was 10 after my parents died." I see Clary's eyebrows wrinkle in surprise and remember I hadn't told her about that either. "I came home from a friend's house and found my parents dead in the study. They never found the killer." She leans forward and grabs my hand.

"I'm sorry." I nod in acknowledgement. "Is that the room you couldn't go into?" she asks me. I nod again. I try to push away the memories of them, dead before I ever had the chance to really know them.

"So it turned out that I was a good soldier," I say, quickly changing my train of thought, "and was quickly promoted to Lieutenant. And that's where I met James Bragford." I have to pause there. I wait for the assault of images to stop before continuing. "He was assigned under my leadership, but he was clever and funny and…he was my best friend over there."

"_You play, Lieutenant?" James Bragford asks me. The piano invites me to it._

I watch the scene play out, a silent third party, unable to warn this younger me of what's about to happen. I tell Clary what I see. I try not to feel.

_I pick out a quick melody with my left hand and smile at him. _"_I play."_

"_That's it? Chopsticks?" I laugh and pull up a chair. My fingers rest on the home keys and I flash Bragford a small smile. My fingers begin to fly across the keys and the other soldiers gather around. The notes radiate around me, along with the sounds of the raucous laughter of the soldiers. I feel myself smile. The tune picks up into the more upbeat melody of "Don't Stop Believin'". _

I remember feeling drunk on excitement. Two more weeks, then home.

"_Is that all you got?" a soldier asks me. I laugh and unleash my fingers upon the ancient keyboard. They fly across the keys, being used for something other than violence for the first time in months. _

"Which is when everything went to Hell."

"_Weapons down! Weapons down!" a man in a turban holding a US issued M16 shouts at us. His accent muffles his poor English, but we get the message. We remove the guns and knives we have strapped onto us and place them at the floor at our feet. I keep one knife on me, hidden in my boot. He levels the gun at my head as more enemy soldiers stream in behind him. I snarl at him and the grin falls from his face. "Hands up! Weapons down!" he yells. We comply. "This is your leader?" he asks, walking towards me and grabbing me by the collar of my shirt._

_The soldiers stay silent, loyal until death. They know that the higher up in rank you are, the worse they treat you. "Answer me! Answer!" The soldiers remain silent. He lifts the massive gun and awkwardly points the barrel at my temple._

My eyes close like they did then, not wanting my last sight to be my murderer.

"_No!" Bragford says before he can fire. "I'm the leader." I turn my flashing eyes to his. The enemy soldier turns his gun on him._

"_He's lying," I snarl. "If you don't believe me look at my jacket. My collar," I shout. The man curses in his native language, unsure who to believe._

"_I know nothing of your silly American system," he says then pushes me roughly forward and nudges my shoulder with the tip of his gun. "Into the truck." I silently thank Bragford, falling into step alongside him. The vehicle we used to get here sits alone in the empty street. _

_After they board us, they blindfold us and tie our hands. Bragford's shoulder presses against mine. I hear five gunshots and I know somebody has died. I wish I knew who._

But I do know, I have to remind myself. I sent flowers to their families. Their bodies were the ones that were found first.

"Jace?"

"I'm fine." She scans my face carefully, her green eyes picking up on everything I'm not telling her. "For awhile they kept us in a dark room and fed us once a day. I don't know how long it was. Then one day, after they had worn us down, they started demanding answers."

"_You. With the light hair. Come." I glare bitterly up at the man and spit on his shoes. He didn't like that very much. He grabs me by the collar and lifts me up, pressing me against the wall with his forearm. My hands are still tied behind my back, my wrists chafed from days of trying to break free. The man pulls out a knife and holds the point at my throat. A rivet of blood trails down my neck, rolling over my collarbone and staining my filthy shirt. He says something in a foreign language and his companions laugh. I defiantly hold his gaze. He yanks me forward and pushes me out of the room._

_This started becoming daily. Three or four men, sometimes different, sometimes the same, would come in and pick us up and bring us to dark rooms where they would threaten us and try to get us to talk. Some of the others did. I can't really blame them._

_I didn't talk. I couldn't do that to my fellow soldiers._

_A couple times we would hear gun shots and know that our numbers were dwindling. Guards were constantly posted outside of the room which made communication difficult. We started counting the days by the change of the guard._

I remember the stench of fear that accompanied everything we did. All we could do was sit there and pray that the army was coming for us.

"One day, I pushed too far."

___On the day they find the knife in my boot, I fight back. With a roundhouse kick, I manage to send one guard to the floor. With my hands still tied behind my back, I can't fight very well, but I do what I can._

_I'm not the victor for long. His comrades grab me quickly, their faces marred with anger._

"_That's it." They say something else that I don't understand and one of the men leaves the room. When they come back, they have their leader, a man I have only seen twice before. Once when we were captured and again a few days ago when he was counting those of us left alive. In his hand, he holds my knife. The terrorists start speaking amongst themselves. I feel my heartbeat pick up in tempo. I'm not very strong anymore. There are times where I barely have the energy to keep my head up. Other times when I barely have the will to keep my heart beating._

_Two men push my jacket off of my shoulders, then cut my undershirt in half. I look down at my bare chest, The lean muscle I had before has withered away. I can count my ribs. I look away, disgusted by my weakness._

"Jace?" I blink at the sound of my name. Clary's hands are around mine. "You're scaring me," she whispers. Her eyes are full of tears. "Your hands keep shaking," she says, "and your eyes can't seem to focus on anything."

"I'm sorry." I grab her face in my hands and wipe away her tears. Her still wet hair is getting some of its curl back.

"Are you okay?" I nod at her, surprising myself with just how alright I am.

"Do you want me to keep going?" I ask her. I can see her thirst for knowledge. She's waited a long time to find this out about me. But I can see it warring inside her with her worry for me.

"Not if it's hurting you."

"I'm fine, Clary. I promise."

_The feeling of the knife being pushed into my skin makes me dizzy. I feel the deliberate lines, the careful calculating precision the leader uses to mark me. _

"I remember thinking the blood loss was going to kill me."

_And then I saw Bragford, his hands free after working tirelessly at those knots for God knows how long. He's weak, like the rest of us. He flings himself at the leader, snatches the knife from his hand (the knife covered with _my_ blood) and stabs him right in the chest. The terrorist screams. Then Bragford does, too, as a bullet tears through his chest. I find myself on the floor, crawling over to him, my blood staining the dirt floor crimson. The other man is still breathing, his screams echoing against the walls of the tiny room. I push on the knife, shifting it up and deeper so that it punctures his heart._

_I collapse into a heap next to Bragford and play dead. Bragford's breaths are labored, and I know that he is going to die. I know that I probably will too. _

"_Thank you," I whisper to him. Barely loud enough to be a sound at all, but I think he understands. He looks at me, straight at me and he nods. I watch as his eyes go glassy._

"That, right there, was the single worst moment of my entire life."

_The terrorists took their leader away. They kept Bragford's body and my own bloody mass in the room for the other soldier's, as a sick reminder of what it would be like to defy them. I hold my jacket to my chest, keeping my body weight on it to stop the flow of blood._

_Then I got very, very lucky. Or at least I thought I did._

"After we had killed the leader, the terrorists hurried to finish negotiations with the U.S. Army. They got their ransom money, gave the Army our coordinates. The rescue squad believed they had left us for dead. They were wrong."

_I see my savior. A man in a regulation helmet and fatigues, gun held firmly in his hands. I pull myself up, using the last of my strength to show them I'm alive. And then the bomb goes off. One last surprise. _

_The blast throws me against the wall. I was far enough away to avoid most of the shrapnel, and I know I'm lucky. Thinner cuts leak fresh blood on top off the old. My ears ring and my skin sizzles with the heat of the nearby fire. The man I saw before grabs me around the waist and drags me out, limping heavily and struggling under the weight of my emaciated body. He puts me in a tank where there are medics who immediately start working on me. They give me some sort of painkiller, but don't wait before they start stitching. I know I'm screaming. I don't stop until I pass out._

Clary looks at me like she never has before. Some mixture of sadness and pity. I look away.

"That's why you got that medal," she says. "And why you can't watch the news." I can tell her brain is going through every question she has ever had about me and processing it, trying to make it fit with everything she just heard. "Jace," she whispers. She crushes her lips to mine, holding my face fiercely in her hands. "If you had died…If I had never known you…" She shakes her head, trying to ward off thoughts she is better off not having. She pulls me to my feet so she can wrap her arms around me.

I hold her against me and let the steadiness of her breathing and rhythm of her heart lend me their strength.


End file.
